


Bad Things Happen Bingo

by Jinmukang



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Attempted Kidnapping, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Batdad, Begging, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Robin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Muzzles, Nightwing (1996) #93, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Restraints, Stalking, Strangulation, Torture, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, add more tags as I go, it's not bad, just flash backs really, non explicit flashbacks I mean, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinmukang/pseuds/Jinmukang
Summary: Because we all love Dick Grayson so much we want him to suffer.





	1. Call to action

**Author's Note:**

> Not a chapter, but a call to action.

Welcome to Bad Things Happen Bingo: Nightwing Style! This is where I'm posting all my whump filled fics you all request to me! 

X/Completed /// Fire/Requested /// Diamond/Next


	2. Muzzled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her eyes slid away from Nightwing and she turned to the balding man. "Get the muzzle."_
> 
> _Nightwing's stomach flipped. "What?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably my fault I didn't explain the prompt challenge good enough haha. I tried to give a visual of what my bingo card is so I can give you all an idea of each of the options. Each option is singular, one square. Though it doesn't mean that each chapter I write cannot include more than one square, but it can only count for one.  
> I hope that makes sense.  
> Anyway, since most of you wanted a Nightwing for Muzzled, here ya go! I kind of went all out on this one.  
> I'm sorry Dick.  
> But not really.  
> Luv ya bb

For what must have been the fourth time in the last ten minutes, Nightwing futilely tugged at the ropes holding his wrists behind his back. He was gloveless, shoeless, weaponless. All he had was his suit and mask, and thank goodness they at least let him keep the mask.  
  
Whoever "they" were.  
  
All he knew was that thirty minutes ago, he was patrolling Gotham with Robin and Batman, and in the middle of jumping building to building, something sharp was shot into his neck and he collapsed unconscious not long after. He woke up in a dark room, stripped of everything useful, dumped in a corner, and tied quite effectively hand and foot.  
  
He could only hope that Batman and Robin had noticed he was missing. They must have. They would find him soon.  
  
He tugged at the ropes on his wrists again, hissing as the fibers rubbed his skin raw. He groaned and glared around the room. It was square, not more than seven by seven feet. The walls were painted in shadows as the only light source came from the crack from under a wooden door. A wooden door that he had already found to be locked after he had awkwardly wiggled over there and maneuvered his fingers over to the handle. After finding the handle stuck in place, he went back to his corner and renewed his attempt to get free.  
  
However, it was clear he wouldn't be going anywhere.  
  
"This sucks," he growled to himself. "At least the floor is carpeted."  
  
Then, suddenly, footsteps sounded. His heart sped up at the possibilities of who could be on the other side of the door. All of them were bad except for Batman. Hopefully it was Batman.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
The door handle jiggled, clicked unlocked, and swung open to reveal a group of people Nightwing didn't recognize. There were five of them, all wearing expensive suits and stoney faces. Only one was a woman, but she looked scariest out of all of them. There was a look in her eye that she meant business and she will not tolerate anything else.  
  
"He's awake," one of the men, a balding one with a rather large nose, helpfully announced.  
  
Nightwing put on his best grin. "Yeah, I had a great nap," he said. The woman leveled her steely glance on him and pressed her lips into a thin line. "Thanks for that, but I really must check out now."  
  
The woman turned her head away and simply nodded to one of the men, this time a buff bull of a man who looked like he could pass as Dwayne Johnson.  
  
Dwayne immediately strode away from the group and stomped over to Nightwing. He barely had enough time to acknowledge the fear that fluttered in his stomach before his collar was grabbed by two beefy hands and he was lifted to his feet and slammed into the wall. His back and arms cried in protest and his skull pounded from where his head hit the hard surface behind him. His legs dangled.  
  
"You will remain silent," the man growled.  
  
"Okay," Dick ground out through gritted teeth.  
  
And then he lifted his legs and kicked the man in the gut.  
  
Not his smartest move, but damn it was satisfying to watch the man's face as his breath left his lungs. Whoever these people were, they clearly were not up to what normal kidnappers would be.  
  
He only slightly regretted it when the hands disappeared and he fell hard onto his butt. He didn't have time to think about his new aching tailbone, because next thing he knew his jaw was a hair's breadth from dislocated from an angry fist.  
  
His head spun with the realization that maybe antagonizing the kidnappers while bound hand and foot wasn't a very good idea. Meaty hands were once again dragging him to his feet and slamming him hard back into the wall. A hand reached back to make another blow and Nightwing could hardly repress a flinch, but before another punch could be made, a smaller hand was placed on Dwayne's shoulder, stopping the action that would surely cause a nasty concussion before it could commence.  
  
"We're not here to damage him," the woman said. Her lips barely even moved, which freaked Nightwing out just a bit. "We were asked to move him."  
  
Dwayne's nostrils flared before he lowered his fist and renewed his grip on Nightwing's suit.  
  
"Where you taking me?" Nightwing asked. He wiggled in his bonds as Dwayne pinned him effectively against the wall. His heart stuttered when the three other men began to approach. His throat bobbed. "What are you doing?"  
  
One of the men were holding something. Leather.  
  
Collar. A leash attached.  
  
"Oh _hell_ no," Nightwing struggled harder against the body pinning him. "Get away from me with that!"  
  
They ignored him as hands reached up to his neck. Nightwing was a pretty easy going guy, but in no circumstances would he allow anyone to collar and leash him. He attempted again to kick the body crushing him against the wall, but it was all futile when Dwayne shifted his own legs and trapped Nightwing's own. Nightwing growled out and shook his head back and forth. A hand got too close for comfort and he did the only thing he could think of.  
  
He bit it.  
  
The man belonging to the hand screeched as skin broke and bones crunched under clenched teeth now stained red. He didn't let go until something slammed his head against the wall and the world tilted. His eyes fluttered and he spat out copper. Something cold was wrapped around his neck and locked in place. It was tight, he could feel his throat bob against the leather, just one setting away from choking him.  
  
He was suddenly dropped back to the floor and he grunted when his bruised backside obtained more damage. He blinked, desperately trying to banish the swirling images in front of him. It took a few tries, but in time, he was clear headed enough to see five people standing over him, one held their bleeding hand close to their chest.  
  
The woman looked down at Nightwing with a disappointed frown and Nightwing glared right back. Something swirled in his stomach at the sight of Dwayne holding the end of the leach connected to the collar that now sat uncomfortably tight around his neck. He spat out more of the man's blood.  
  
Her eyes slid away from Nightwing and she turned to the balding man. "Get the muzzle."  
  
Nightwing's stomach flipped. "What?"  
  
They all ignored him as the man left the room. Panic flared up in his chest and he couldn't help but freak out a bit. There was no way he was going to let them collar, leash, and _muzzle_ him like a dog!  
  
The man came back and Nightwing really started to panic. He uselessly kicked his legs as his eyes met the sight of the contraption in the man's hands. It looked like half a face mask, made of metal and made to fit over the whole bottom half of its wearer. He kicked his legs again when hands grabbed his arms and shoulders to keep him in place. His legs were soon pinned in the same way and all he could do was wiggle and jerk uselessly in the restraining hold.  
  
"Get that away from me!" He yelled as the man came closer. "Who are you people!? Let go! Back-" he choked on his words when the collar around his neck was viciously tugged. His neck ached but he continued his protests and struggling the moment he could.  
  
It didn't matter in the end because it was only a matter of minutes the muzzle was forced over his face. Something rubber was shoved in his mouth, effectively gagging him. The cold metal was pressed tight against his nose, lips, and jaw, grinding his teeth together painfully and locking in place. He desperately shook his head, but soon straps we're pulled to the back of his head and tightened, pressing his lips against his teeth and digging into his skull.  
  
The hands disappeared and he reluctantly slumped against the wall behind his back and breathed heavily through his nose. The mask was so tight against his face that it felt like his teeth were digging into his gums and the small holes punched into the space by his nose to allow him to breathe didn't give him quite enough air to properly catch his breath.  
  
He flinched again when fingers grabbed at his legs, but all they did was loosen the ropes holding his ankles together. He was just about to kick out with his newly freed legs, but before he could do so his collar was yanked and he was dragged to his feet by a crewel noose.  
  
"That's better," the woman said. She gave him a once over before striding out of the room.  
  
Nighting was quickly dragged along by his neck.  
  
The leather edges of the collar dug into his skin and rubbed his neck painfully, but that didn't stop him from digging his feet into the ground to make the statement he was _not_ under _any_ circumstances willingly being lead by a leash. He considered fighting back for a second. He was highly trained and he could most definitely take out quite a few people with just his legs, however all thought of fighting back left him when he noticed the slightest of bulges near the hips of each of his captors.  
  
Guns changed things.  
  
The leash was painfully pulled taut and constricted his windpipe, he grudgingly moved his legs so he wouldn't be strangled. They _walked_ him out of the room and onto a hallway like he was a disobedient dog. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, and he would be lying if he said that didn't mess with him a bit.  
  
He would definitely tell them off if he didn't have the muzzle pulled painfully over his face. The hard edges scraped his skin and worked into his cheeks and nose. It was, if it were possible, more annoyingly frustrating than the collar and leash that dragged him around a corner into another hallway filled with doors.  
  
His eyes caught sight of a guard standing in the shadows of the hallway, a rather dangerous looking gun sat comfortable in his hands. The guard gave the five captors and their captive a uninterested glance before going up to a seemingly random door and pulling out a key.  
  
The group surrounding Nightwing stopped and waited for the door to open, Nightwing could do nothing but stand as far from the man holding the end of the leash as possible. Nothing but glare. Nothing but hope whatever was on the other side of the door included Batman and freedom.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
Again. That seemed to be happening a lot that day.  
  
Instead, when the door swung open, he was tugged into a room about the size of a master bedroom. Not the manor's master bedroom, more like a humble middle class one. His stomach dropped and bile rose to his throat when his eyes looked through the dim lighting and caught on what must have been a dozen cages lined up along the walls. The need to throw up became unbearably strong when he saw _people_ lying in each of the cages. Some were muzzled, some were naked, some you could see how sunken their cheeks were. All wore a collar and leash, with the ends tied in a knot around the bars of their cages. Some had blood crusting on their necks and others were just beginning to be rubbed raw. They all had dead, dazed looks on their faces.  
  
Nightwing was the only one with his arms still tied.  
  
They were willingly keeping the collars on.  
  
And that wasn't the worst of it. One of the cages at the far side of the room were empty, and he was being walked right over there.  
  
Yeah, no. Hell no. There was no way.  
  
He jerked his body back and grunted through his nose, he ignored the stinging rawness of his neck and the way his air was cut off the more he struggled because there was absolutely no fucking way he was letting them shove him in a cage.  
  
The captors, the absolute monsters, seemed to anticipate his reluctance and moved to grab his squirming and struggling body. The woman gave him an unimpressed look as hands tugged on his collar and wrapped around his biceps and tugged at his hair. To Nightwing's right, a young man whimpered and grabbed at his ears and to his left a woman curled up tighter in her cage with silent tears trailing her cheeks.  
  
There were too many hands and his kicking was doing nothing. He could feel himself slowly suffocating from the small amount of air being allowed in the muzzle and from the constant tugging and twisting of the collar. The world spun in his panic and he was forced lower to the ground, lower and lower until he was pinned by unforgiving hands to the ground. His nose flared and his eyes desperately flickered back and forth to _find_ a way out. Despite the way he was pinned, he continued to wiggle and jerk and attempt to free himself. He could distantly feel the ropes on his wrists finally cut through skin, but that didn't matter because he could hardly breathe and they were going to lock him in a dog's cage.  
  
"From now on we will punish him," he heard the woman say. "I had hoped he'd cooperate if we allowed him to keep his mask, but it seems that will not be the case."  
  
Nightwing screamed through his nose and renewed his attempt to get free with new vigor. He actually felt some restraining hands struggle to keep a grip on his arms and head.  
  
And then soft, woman hands touched the edge of his mask and he stilled completely, breathing hard and trying to give her his best pleading look.  
  
Because suddenly, being locked in a cage like an animal seemed better than his eyes being able to be seen.  
  
The woman didn't stop her prying fingers. She easily dug her nails in between his skin and the mask. It was hard to stop tears forming in his eyes as the adhesive tugged painfully at his skin.  
  
Then the mask was off and he squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
And he was being dumped into the cage with the leash being knotted around one of the wire bars. The door closed with a gut wrenching bang. Footsteps retreated and left, leaving a clicking door in their wake.  
  
He didn't want to open his eyes, because he suddenly wasn't Nightwing.  
  
He was Dick Grayson.  
  
Dick Grayson who was bound, collared, leashed, unmasked, caged, and muzzled.  
  
And cold. And confused.  
  
And scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time will be thwarted escape (including maybe Manhandling, Big Brother Instinct, and Mind Rape) with a young, 16 Year old Dick Grayson.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter! This is my first time writing this dark, so I'm a little nervous but excited at the same time >:)


	3. Thwarted Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The joys of kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why was this one so hard to write????? Like????? What????????
> 
> I seriously had to rewrite this five times. I just... 
> 
> Well, here's Thwarted Escape with young, 16 year old Dick Grayson. This version was fun to write, and I'm actually pretty content with it. Unlike the OTHER versions *glares at four half finished drafts*
> 
> Oh, and I am FLOORED by the reactions to the last chapter. Like... Wow. Thanks guys. <3<3<3

Cars drove past, spraying up small bursts of mist from the downpour that ended just ten minutes ago. Harsh yellow lights from lamps and different shops reflected off the sidewalk. Dick walked with his hoodie pulled up and his hands stuffed in his pockets.   
  
He was just coming back from doing homework with Barbra. They shared a couple difficult classes in school, of which all of them decided to have pretty big tests on the same day, so they decided to hang out and do some studying together. After getting permission from both Bruce and Captain Gordon, they got together and got a lot done. Soon, the sun went down and Dick realized he had patrol in a couple hours, and Bruce wouldn't be happy if he missed that. He said bye and began his trek to the nearest bus station that would take him just a fifteen minutes walk from the manor grounds.   
  
"Excuse me," Dick mumbled when a person got to close. He went to dodge the person, but a hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Dick's bicep. The realization that this person had been heading straight towards him on purpose hit him like a truck.   
  
Three more people, all male, emerged from the shadows and surround Dick. Dick felt something sharp poke into his side.   
  
"Where's your wallet?" The man holding a knife to his stomach asked. It was deep and raspy with something stronger and more illegal than a cigarette. Weird rashes covered his face.   
  
"Um," Dick said as he flicked his eyes over each of the muggers and around him. There was no one; the street was empty, which meant he was alone. If he were Robin, he could easily grab the man's arm and launch an attack that would leave all men crying on the ground, but he wasn't Robin. He was Dick. Great, time to willingly let himself get mugged and act scared while doing so. "back- back pocket."   
  
One of the muggers friends instantly reached towards Dick's back side. Dick flinched in discomfort when the hand touched him, but it thankfully only lasted a second before his wallet was extracted.   
  
"Found it," the friend said. He began to dig into the wallet and everyone watched him do so.   
  
"Um, can I go now?" Dick asked. He squirmed a bit when the hand tightened on his arm and the knife poked just a bit harder.   
  
The friend suddenly made a choking noise. "What brat has two hundred in cash in their wallets!?"   
  
"What?" Another mugger asked.   
  
The man holding Dick made an interested noise in the back of his throat and Dick felt his stomach drop. Damn Bruce for making sure Dick had some money and for being a rich guardian that didn't know what the normal amount of pocket change was. Damn him.   
  
"Yeah, there's two flipping hundred," the fourth mugger said with awe in his voice.   
  
Dick watched as the man who took his wallet looked through the cards and various pockets before pulling out Dick's drivers license. He suddenly started laughing. "Hey, it's that Wayne kid!"   
  
"No way," the man holding Dick's arm said.   
  
"Ah- I found that wallet-" Dick started, he was cut off when the man readjusted his grip on the knife.   
  
A hand grabbed Dick's other arm and another pulled down his hoodie. "Well, look at that. It's the same kid."   
  
Dick could see the exact moment all four of the muggers got the same idea. It was the glances they gave each other, the widening of smiles, the shifting of feet.   
  
Dick really didn't feel like getting kidnapped again. Seven years with Bruce and it's happened too many times. It got old after number four. So he did what he thought most kids at risk of being kidnapped by four men who probably knew more about drugs than basic math would do. He stomped as hard as he could on the man holding his arms and booked it the moment the grip loosened.   
  
Dick heard the man say a word Alfred would _not_ approve of before he yelled at his friends to chase after Dick. Soon, four sets of frantic footsteps were behind him. Dick picked up his pace and ran faster than what Bruce would probably approve of, but there was no way he was going to allow himself to be taken by druggies. Hired help? Men in suits with ego issues? Middle class citizens down on their luck? Sure. But city bums who made their living on crime and lost it to addiction was _not_ okay.   
  
He had preferences on who could kidnap him. What was his life?   
  
He made a turn down an alleyway next to a shady looking tattoo parlor that lead to a street that had more chances of pedestrians and sprinted past various dumpsters and crates of random items. He could hear the pounding footsteps behind him, but they were getting further. He was getting close to the other end of the alley when he tripped.   
  
Over a black cat disguised in the shadows with their black fur.   
  
The cat made an evil yet wounded yowl and Dick felt claws and teeth dig into his shins as he went down. He landed hard on his stomach with the pavement below him scraping his palms and knees, the force of his chin hitting the ground shoved his jaw up and made his teeth painfully bite into the corner of his tongue. He attempted to get up again but the cat made a point of it's hurt and annoyance by screeching and swiping at his face. Dick whipped his hand out to push the cat away, which thankfully made the cat make one last hiss before spitting and running away back into the shadows. Dick put his hands below him and ignored his stinging wounds while he pushed himself up.   
  
However, he misjudged how close his pursuers were and how much time he lost during his mishap. He was grabbed around his middle and hefted up so he was held against someone's chest with his feet dangling.   
  
"Got'cha!"   
  
Dick wasted no time to start kicking his legs and clawing at the arms wrapping around his chest.   
  
"Let go! I gave you my wallet!"   
  
The man holding him grunted with Dick's foot connected with his legs, but the grip only tightened. "You'll be giving us more soon," the man said. Dick winced at his rancid breath. "Daryl, grab his legs!"   
  
"No," Dick growled and kicked harder. This had gone far enough. "Help! Someone help!" He screamed. One of his legs were grabbed and he desperately tried to free it with the other. "HEL-mffh-"   
  
A hand wrapped around his mouth and his other leg was grabbed. All he could do was jerk his body, hoping to get free and use his hands that were still free to move the restraining holds. He moved his mouth around and tried to bite the hand gagging him.   
  
"Will someone grab his arms, little shit scratched me" the man holding his upper body hissed. Dick had clawed through the skin of the arm around his chest in his attempts to get free, he hadn't even noticed the blood of another man staining his fingers until his wrists were grabbed and torn away from his body.   
  
In the end, Dick was restrained by three men. One held his waist and covered his mouth, one had his legs, another held his wrists off to the side. All he could do was scream into the gag and twist his body, which wasn't doing much help with anything. No one was coming and no matter how much he tried to bend his knees or buck his hips, not one limb got out of the hand holding it.   
  
He was trapped, and he was being carried away from where help could possibly be.   
  
He tried to scream through his nose as they carried him deeper into the alleyway. Dick may not be allowed to "Boy Wonder" his way out of the situation, but he sure as hell but wasn't going quietly.   
  
"Damn, he's going to get us caught," the man holding his legs said with a tight expression. He shifted Dick's legs from his hands to his elbows and waist, forcing them around his body and locking them in place. If Dick remembered correctly, Bad Breath behind him said his name was Daryl.   
  
"We just need to find a way to quiet him," the guy who wasn't holding a body part said quite helpfully, "knock him out for something, I don't know."   
  
The man holding Dick's wrists put on a thoughtful look before he turned to Mr Helpful. "Take his arms, I have an idea."   
  
Mr Helpful took Dick's arms and held them while the man who Dick had now dubbed Knifey—he was the guy who held the knife to Dick's stomach—told the group to stop walking and keep Dick still. They did their best, but Dick still stubbornly managed to find a way to make it hard for them.   
  
"Okay," Knifey said, like he himself was a bit unsure of the idea. He walked up to Dick's upper body and looked at him for a moment, and then he lifted his hands and grabbed Dick's neck.   
  
It was so sudden that Dick didn't have time to turtle up his neck before he was being strangled. He frantically kicked harder when he could no longer get air.   
  
"Woah! _Quiet_ him! He's no use to us if he's dead!" Bad Breath said. Dick would have agreed with him if he could breathe!   
  
Knifey got an unsure look on his face and his hands loosened just a fraction before determination took its place and he dug his fingers deeper into Dick's windpipe. "It's just till he passes out…"   
  
Dick didn't hear anything else. His heart was pounding so hard and he so wanted to breathe. Ringing started in his ears and his vision had already started to blur. It was scary how he could feel his limbs lose strength. Scary that he couldn't remember what Batman told him to do if some bad guy ever wrapped their hands around his neck.   
  
What does he do? He… he needed to BREATHE!   
  
His stomach and chest shuttered as muscles uselessly tried to get him to suck in air... he lost all strength in his limbs… he... he couldn't see… his eyes closed and…   
  
And nothing…   


* * *

  
"-up."   
  
Dick groaned and immediately regretted it when his throat burned with fire. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to fall back asleep. He hurt so badly.   
  
"Chum, it's me, wake up."   
  
He forced his eyes open and blinked and had to blink a couple times more before he could get a clear picture of what was in front of him.   
  
Or in this case, who.   
  
"B-" he tried to say his name, but pain in his throat flared up and he erupted into the most agonizing coughing fit in the history of ever.   
  
When he was all done, Bruce was holding a glass of ice chips witch a pained look on his face. Dick flicked his eyes around the room and noticed he was at Leslie's clinic. "How?" He whispered, and even his whispering voice sounded like sandpaper.   
  
Bruce handed Dick the cup. Dick popped one of the chips in his mouth and let the cold water soothe his throat.   
  
"A boy heard the men trying to take you and went to grab a couple officers. They came back while the men were in the middle of strangling you."   
  
"Boy?" Dick asked.   
  
Bruce nodded. "Disappeared during the scuffle."   
  
"Oh."   
  
Awkward silence filled the room. Things between Bruce and Dick had been a bit awkward for awhile. Arguments broke out multiple times between them a week, some even had to be broken up by Alfred. Dick was growing and his opinions were starting to differ. It was no surprise Bruce didn't want to talk to him too much, even in a hospital room after just having been strangled and almost kidnapped.   
  
"Dick," Bruce suddenly said. Stand Dick corrected.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"I'm... glad you are okay."   
  
Dick smiled and moved one of his hands onto one of Bruce's. That was the closest to 'I love you, and this whole event scared the crap out of me' Dick would get and he would take it.   
  
"Love you too," he whispered.   
  
Leslie walked in a few minutes later, finding both of her regulars—she shouldn't have regulars, the idiots—enjoying each other's company in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, as requested on my Tumblr, Officer Grayson forced to beg in front of Batman!
> 
> This one is going fun.
> 
> Oh, and ending note, a lot of you really liked my Muzzled chapter, and good news is that I do have a whole story planned out for it, I just didn't write it all because instead of being 2500 words, it would be 10000. If you want me to write out the rest, you'll have to be patient until I'm done with bingo, because I kind of want to write the rest too, but I want to focus on one thing at a time.


	4. Forced To Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a huge misunderstanding. Dick cries more than he's comfortable with, Alfred puts Bruce in his place, and Jason is done with his family.
> 
> A gang war in Blüdhaven goes wrong, but then it goes right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this one. Man, my love for cop shows really comes out in this chapter. Granted, I might have gotten some facts wrong on police ranking and mafia mindsets, but just roll with it guys.
> 
> As requested on Tumblr, Officer Grayson is forced to beg in front of Batman. 
> 
> The hardest part of this was finding a reason of why Dick would beg, and why Batman would be there. Then I had to find out when it should take place, and I decided the most humiliating option would be to have it take place in Jason's early Robin days, where I think Dick and Bruce's relationship was most tense.
> 
> Also, this one's long, which means more chances of typos. Beware. They could be anywhere. (Meaning, all mistakes are mine and I know they possiblity exist).
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Dick was working over time. Being a cop wasn't all shooting guns and arresting bad guys, if anything most of it was sitting at a desk and filing paperwork. It was all extremely boring and a huge waste of time, stealing precious hours that could be used cleaning up the only city in the world that would consider Gotham a nice tourist spot.   
  
In the end, it was probably a pretty good thing he was at the precinct, because he was right there when the captain barged out of his office, red in the face and chest heaving, announcing that two detectives undercover had been discovered by the very gang they were in.   
  
And that Batman and Robin were there.   
  
Dick almost snapped the pencil in his hand at that announcement. As he jumped from his desk and rushed with the other cops in the room assigned to go and help get those detectives _out_ , Dick couldn't help but seethe with annoyance and anger. Of course Bruce would come to Blüdhaven with the new kid and mess everything up for two good people that were _good_ detectives. He had almost forgot that the gang that they were undercover in used to be centered in Gotham. _Of course_ Bruce would follow them to Blüdhaven even though Dick had made it clear he didn't want him anywhere near his city.   
  
Especially with the new kid.   
  
Dick worked on his bullet proof vest and checked over his gun next to half a dozen other officers. Officer Jones turned to Sanchez. "I can't believe Gotham's finest are there," he said.   
  
"Yeah," Sanchez replied as he pulled a jacket over his vest, "what are they doing here in Blüdhaven?"   
  
_Stepping on my toes and rubbing it in my face that Bruce doesn't need me_ , Dick almost replied. Instead he grunted and shoved his pistol in his holster before walking out of the precinct. He sprinted into one of the patrol cars with a few other officers, and then sped off into what surely would be a bloodbath.   


* * *

  
They heard the gunfire a block from where they were heading. In the fifteen minutes the cars had to speed down narrow streets in the wake of flashing red and blue, the situation had escalated to an all out gang war between two different families. Batman and Robin did not help in the least. Reports of injured civilians and casualties.   
  
No word on detectives Brooks and Delatejera.   
  
Civilians had gotten word and warnings via cell phones of the gang war, which left the roads thankfully clear in the surrounding area.   
  
Now all that was left to do was get out of the cars and stop an all out gang war.   
  
Easier said than done.   
  
Nonetheless, Officer Grayson jumped out of the car with his gun held up, ready to shoot. There were already SWAT troops and some agents from the FBI building housed in central Blüdhaven, so thankfully most of the fighting had been stopped—while jurisdiction would normally be argued, the situation was serious enough that stopping more bloodshed was more important. There were still the telltale sounds of gunfire further down the block, but it looked like the SWAT team had that covered, with their fancy Shields and big guns and all. Dick and his fellow officers ran through the messy, eerily abandoned streets, arresting stragglers and helping the wounded get to the paramedics stationed a safe distance from the eye of the storm. Dick tried his best to ignore the puddles of red on the ground, the groaning civilians and gangsters alike with red, yellow, green, white, and black tags. The body bags. The sirens.   
  
He hadn't seen Batman and Robin, most likely they were held up in the epicenter of this man-made disaster. He desperately wanted to ditch his police uniform and join them, fighting bad guys and using his skills to make the battle shorter. He already heard a few officers ask where Nightwing was, but he knew if Officer Grayson suddenly disappeared, questions would be asked.   
  
What must have been hours passed until until the gunfire settled down to minutes between each shot, that was also when a young woman was being dragged out with her arm wrapped around the SWAT agent's shoulder. Detective Delatejera had blood trailing down here forehead from under her hijab and a nasty chunk of flesh missing from her calf, but a look of pure determination was worn on her face as she was helped over to paramedic hands and the captain. Dick hefted up a gangster he caught trying to flee the scene—his hands were zip tied because there were only so many pairs of handcuffs to go around—and followed after Delatejera to hear what she had to say, because from the way her eyes were narrowed and her lips pursed, it was clear she had a lot to get off her chest.   
  
Dick handed the gangster over to an FBI agent that were stuffing their uninjured perps in those huge trucks that could hold a dozen prisoners, and sprinted back over towards Delatejera and the captain.   
  
"-in there, we can't just leave him!" Delatejera snarled, even as a paramedic worked on her nasty leg wound.   
  
"What happened?" Dick whispered over to the officer next to him.   
  
Officer Parker leaned over closer to Dick. "Detective Brooks was taken hostage by Gallo," he said.   
  
Martin Gallo, the head boss of Blüdhaven's version of the mafia. A nasty man who only cared for his family and gold. Betrayal was worse than murder, and he had ways to take out traitors. BCPD had been working for months to take him down, not having any sufficient evidence to put away for as long as he deserved.   
  
"What is he demanding and why hasn't the FBI handled it?" The captain growled and glared at the FBI's Assistant Special Agent.   
  
"We don't make deals with terrorists," the agent growled, "and what he's demanding is absurd."   
  
Both the captain and Delatejera looked like they were about to blow a casket.   
  
"I have a detective in there," the captain said in a scary calm voice that Dick could just barely put on the level of angry Batman's voice, "you will tell me the demands and I will tell you if they're worth the life of Brooks or not."   
  
"That's the thing, sir," the SWAT agent said who had dragged Delatejera over from the heat of gunfire, "he doesn't want to talk to the FBI or SWAT. He wants to talk with an officer."   
  
"Which is why I need to go back there!" Delatejera said angrily through clenched teeth. Whatever the paramedic was using to clean her leg must have stung. "I know Gallo, he'll talk to me."   
  
"There is no way I'm letting you back in there," the captain said, switching his glare to the detective.   
  
Dick stepped forward. "I'll go."   
  
All eyes turned to him in various amounts of surprise and annoyance.   
  
"Grayson-"   
  
"I have experience in dealing with terrorists," Dick said, defending himself. Both as a cop and as a vigilante, he had had events with talking down criminals. "I can do this."   
  
The FBI Assistant Special Agent looked at the captain with a disbelieving look, and then he proceeded to splutter after seeing the captains considering look. "Don't tell me you're actually thinking of going through with this."   
  
"Where are the Bats?" The captain asked slowly.   
  
Delatejera scoffed. "Disappeared after the last shot was fired."   
  
"So they're either gone, or going in to take out Gallo."   
  
Dick almost wanted to groan in frustration. "Sir, we cannot rely on Batman and Robin, I came from Gotham. I know that they cause just as many problems as they solve. The best bet is to get to Gallo before they do."   
  
The captain gave Dick a long look before he sighed. "Get better gear on, Grayson, and get my detective out of there."   
  
"You've got to be shitting me," the Special Agent groaned.   
  
"Grayson is one of my best, there is no one else I would trust more with this," the captain said stubbornly.   
  
"Sir," Dick said. He nodded down at Delatejera before he turned on his heels and sprinted over to where Gallo would be waiting.   
  
And probably Batman and Robin too. 

* * *

  
The SWAT lended him a better bullet proof vest, a communication device, and a helmet. How nice of them. In minutes time, he was briefed on the building Gallo and Brooks were held up in, and then he was marching in, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, wrists crossed.   
  
He was just barely a few hallways into the building when he saw a flicker of black in his peripheral vision, something any normal person wouldn't have noticed. Dick made sure his comm was turned off before he talked to the shadow.   
  
"Please tell me you weren't the one who gave Delatejera and Brooks away," he whispered.   
  
The shadow dropped to the ground in front of him and Dick kept both of his hands up where they were, used the flashlight to better see Batman and used the gun to make a point. It must have irked Batman to see him with a gun.   
  
"You didn't tell me they had undercover cops in there," Batman growled.   
  
Great. He was pinning the blame on Dick. Typical.   
  
"I don't have to tell you that, I told you to stay out of Blüdhaven. You should have respected that."   
  
"Don't get your panties in a twist, Goldie," a new voice said. A boy dressed in red, yellow, and green— _Dick's colors_ —emerged from the shadows with an easy-going grin on his face.   
  
Dick felt something angry build up in his chest when he looked at the boy who wore his suit and went by his name. He had to remind himself for the thousandth time that it wasn't Jason's fault, it was Bruce's.   
  
"Just get out of my way," Dick said, ignoring Robin's comment, "and let me save Detective Brooks without you messing things up more."   
  
With that sentence, he turned back on his comm and shoved himself past Batman and Robin. He heard Robin make a rude remark, but ignored it and went deeper into the building.   
  
Dick checked each room as he went deeper, and with each one turning up empty, the more unease started to grow.   
  
" _Grayson, report_ ," came the voice of the Captain in his ear.   
  
Dick lifted a hand to his comm and kept the other holding his gun steady. "All clear so far, sir."   
  
" _When you find him, keep communication on so we can talk you through negotiations_ ," the SWAT commander said.   
  
"Yessir."   
  
There were only a few more rooms left in the building to check besides the roof. He quickly went through the rest of the building with narrowed eyes and sharp ears. He had finally reached the last room when Dick felt the familiar presence of Batman behind him. He was standing back at a respectable distance, as if he were willing to let Officer Dick Grayson take the wheel for a moment.   
  
Or if he were willing to wait for him to fail.   
  
Dick ignored him and opened the door to the last room, inside he was met with a livid looking Gallo standing with a few family members, two of which were holding a halfway conscious detective Brooks between them, standing about the room.   
  
Brooks looked worse for wears. Blood oozed from multiple cuts on his body. There was a worrying amount of blood seeping out from his left shoulder. His wrists were tied behind his back.   
  
"Officer," Gallo said, opening his arms wide. "Please, put the weapon down. We're all friends here."   
  
" _Put it down, Grayson, but keep it close_ " the captain said.   
  
Dick lowered his gun and flashlight, but didn't out down his defensive posture. He felt the presence of Batman and Robin enter the room, unseen.   
  
" _Ask him about his terms,_ " the SWAT commander said.   
  
"Your terms?" Dick asked.   
  
Gallo smiled, but the anger in his eyes shown. "We can't talk until I know we're alone."   
  
One of the Gallo family members walked up to Dick with a nasty gun in one hand and the other one held out expectantly.   
  
" _Officer, do_ **_not_ ** _give-_ "   
  
Dick turned off the comm and pulled it out of his ear. He handed it to the member and then allowed another one to step up and pat him down. Dick was surprised when they didn't take his gun. It seemed they were more concerned with outside communication.   
  
"I appreciate your honesty, officer," Gallo finally said once the search was completed. Dick cleared his throat and let his arms fall stiffly to his side.   
  
"Your terms?"   
  
"That depends on what you want."   
  
Dick swallowed. "All I want is to get detective Brooks and myself out of here."   
  
Gallo smiled, "you make a hard request, but we can bargain because I want the same thing for me and my brothers and sisters."   
  
Dick didn't say anything and waited for Gallo to continue.   
  
"But, you see, for four months I thought Dian and Jason were apart of my family," Gallo continued as he began to pace, "they betrayed me, and I do not let traitors off easy."   
  
"What do you want?" Dick asked through gritted teeth.   
  
Gallo stopped in place and fixed Dick with a piercing look. "If you want to get yourself and your detective out of this building, you will simply tell your commanding officer to step away. If you want to get yourself and a _breathing_ detective out, you'll need to do one more thing."   
  
Dick was getting tired of this. He wanted things to get to the point, but he also knew he was dealing with a cornered mad man that knew more about the criminal web than most others. He could easily make Dick's life a living hell even if he was placed in jail.   
  
"What's that?"   
  
Gallo gave the two family members a glance, and then Brooks was being dragged to the middle of the room and shoved to his knees. It was a miracle Brooks had enough strength left to keep upright. "Whenever I find a traitor in my family, they are always offered redemption. Family makes mistakes, you see, and we are not savages," Gallo said as he walked closer to Brooks, "we give them a fair trial, offer the chance for their siblings to defend them. He is your brother in arms, correct?"   
  
"Where are you going with this?" Dick asked with narrowed eyes.   
  
Gallo looked up and smiled. "If you want him out alive, defend him. Get on your knees and cry for his forgiveness. Beg."   
  
It was silent in the room after the demand was made. The presence of Gotham's Dynamic Duo became so much more prominent to Dick in that moment.   
  
"That's... That's it?"   
  
"Of course not," Gallo said with a shrug, "it's not as easy as saying please and thank you. You have to _convince_ me his life isn't worthless. Lower yourself to a crying sibling."   
  
Dick swallowed. "I'll do it."   
  
"Fantastic." Gallo backed away from Brooks and leaned against the back wall of the room. "Convince me."   
  
Even before it started, Dick could feel heat rising to his cheeks. He didn't know what he was going to say or… or how he was going to beg. He'd never had to do that before. He had always been in a position where he could just flex some muscles and throw a few sharp weapons and walk out of there. He didn't even know Brooks that well, all he knew was that he had the biggest crush on Delatejera and that he had his thirty-second birthday a couple weeks ago.   
  
He was almost tempted to turn around and let Batman and Robin take care of it... but deep in his gut he knew that that would be even more humiliating.   
  
Dick knelt down on his knees and placed his hands carefully flat on the ground in front of him. His stomach twisted and he could feel the intensity of the blush on his cheeks and neck, but he lowered his face and opened his mouth anyway.   
  
"Please," he whispered. His fingers shook and humiliation pooled in his gut. He forced his voice to go louder. "Please let him go, it wasn't his… or Delatejera's fault." C'mon Grayson! You're an actor! He took a deep breath and did his best to start getting tears flowing, or at least a wobble to form in his voice. It was surprisingly easy, all he had to do was think of Batman watching him, with his judging stare digging into his unprotected back, stronger than any beam Superman could make with his laser vision.   
  
"They were just doing their job, I'm... I'm begging you."   
  
God, it was so quiet in the building and he could _feel_ Batman looking at him. He could practically see his tight jaw, veins popping out in disapproval. Was Gallo listening to him or was he just making a complete fool of himself in front of the only man Dick had ever respected after his own father?   
  
"They- they are good people, good people that Blüdhaven needs, and… and you have to- to"   
  
His chest heaved, it was getting hard to breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Why was it so quiet? Oh God, he was freaking out in front of Batman… in front of Jason to something so trivial. Tears rolled down his cheeks.   
  
"You have to forgive them! They have so much to live for, and so many people waiting- waiting for them to come _home_. They've- they've made mis-" he had to stop and take a shuddering breath, he lifted a hand and desperately wiped at his cheeks, "mistakes, but they're working on it. Please, I'll do anything, just- just p-please let… let them-"   
  
He broke down. God damnit he broke down. " _Please!"_ He yelled, lifting his head and looking Gallo straight in the eye. Gallo actually looked taken aback. "Give them- them a second chance. I'm b-begging you. P-"   
  
Gallo suddenly stepped forward and placed a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Enough," he said quietly.   
  
Dick shut his mouth and tried to get his sobs under control, but the thought of Bruce watching him blubbering and _begging_ made bile climb to his throat and more tears build up. Gallo held a hand down in front of Dick, and it took Dick a second to realize Gallo was offering to help him up to his feet. He swallowed and forced Bruce to the back of his mind and took the hand. He was helped up.   
  
"Officer, what is your name?"   
  
"Dick Grayson," he replied without really thinking.   
  
And all thought left him when arms were suddenly wrapped around him and held him close in a hug.   
  
"Dick," Gallo said as he broke the hug, he held Dick by his shoulder and looked him in the eyes, "clearly your family means much to you. You have fulfilled your end of the bargain."   
  
Dick could only stare as Gallo leaned in and kissed both of Dicks cheeks. Which was a little weird if Dick were honest.   
  
The family member who took Dick's comm handed it back when Gallo stepped away. Dick carefully placed it in his ear and wiped off his tears.   
  
"All you have to do is tell your officers to let us go, and then you and your brother can leave."   
  
Dick nodded and turned the comm back on.   
  
" _anmit! Where the f-_ "   
  
"Captain, I'm back," Dick said. His voice was wobbly, he cleared his throat.   
  
" _GRAYSON! Where the HELL have you been_?!" The captain roared. " _What happened_?!"   
  
"Gallo wants us to back off and give him and his family passage out."   
  
There was a tense moment of silence before the SWAT commander replied. " _Is that all_?"   
  
"Yessir, he is allowing Brooks and I to leave if that one demand is met." He sniffed and wiped under his eyes again.   
  
Another moment of silence. " _Tell him we'll see what we can do_."   
  
Gallo didn't look surprised from the answer, but he still aloud Dick to walk towards Brooks who was starting to slump downwards with his eyelids slowly flickering. Dick gave them weary looks before he bent down, untied the ropes binding his wrists, and slung Brooks arm around his shoulder. He hefted up the detective with a groan and gave Gallo one last glance at Gallo.   
  
Gallo nodded and Dick turned around and started to drag Brooks out of the room.   
  
He could feel Batman's stare on his back as he left. Dick knew the moment Dick was out of the room with the hostage, Batman and Robin would take out Gallo and his family, Batman was even less partial to making deals with criminals than the FBI were.   
  
He knew that attack was launched when Dick was ten meters out of the room and the first gunshot sounded.   
  
Brooks flinched at the sound and groaned in pain.   
  
"Don't worry," Dick said quietly, not even sure if Brooks were lucid enough to be listening, "it's just Batman and Robin taking the last of them out."   
  
There was a crashing noise and a scream followed by more gunfire, Dick continued on like he didn't hear it.   
  
He was so close to the front door of the building when Brooks suddenly hissed in agony. "You know," he started, in a quiet and pain laced voice. Dick almost flinched at the sound, he had thought Brooks passed out, "I always thought you were just a spoiled rich kid from Gotham- ah!" He exclaimed when Dick shifted him to renew his grip as he pushed open the doors.   
  
"Most people do," Dick said.   
  
Dick and Brooks emerged from the building and into the rising sun. It had been a long night. Outside were SWAT teams lined up with guns pointed, patrol cars with cops taking shelter behind the vehicles, and FBI agents doing much of the same thing but with their own slick black cars. Dick ignored the relieved faces of the different kind of law enforcement and headed straight towards the waiting hands of the paramedics.   
  
They took Brooks from the Dick the moment he got to them. Brooks' face twisted up in discomfort when they laid him on the ground the began treating his immediate injuries. Dick patted him on the shoulder before he stood up.   
  
"Grayson," came a week, tired sounding voice. Dick turned and faced Brooks. "Thanks, it must have been difficult to do that."   
  
_You have no idea,_ he thought as he said "You'd do the same for any other officer."   
  
Another call of his name caught his attention, he turned his head and met the sight of the captain sprinting over to Dick. "What happened in there?"   
  
"I negotiated his terms. When I left, Batman and Robin arrived to take them out, my bets are that if we head back in, well find the rest of them knocked out cold."   
  
The captain looked at Dick with surprise before he cleared his throat. "Your work is finished, Grayson," he said. He put a hand on Dick's shoulder, "go home and rest."   
  
Dick nodded, suddenly bone tired. "Yessir."   
  
He walked away from the scene just as Gallo and his family were dragged out of the building in cuffs. Gallo didn't look surprised, just content and tired. Batman and Robin were nowhere to be seen. Next to him, the paramedics ran Brooks in a stretcher over to the dwindling number of ambulances. It seemed most of the injured had been processed and sent to the nearest hospital.   
  
"Grayson, get over here!"   
  
Man, everyone wanted to talk with him.   
  
He turned his head and saw Delatejera sitting by an ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a bandage poking out from under her hijab. "Detective," Dick said, forcing a smile.   
  
She smiled back and patted the spot next to her. Dick complied and lowered himself so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder.   
  
"I don't know how to thank you," she said quietly, looking off to where Brooks was being loaded into an ambulance.   
  
"Saying 'thank you' is usually how it's done."   
  
"Smart-ass."   
  
Dick made a genuine smile and chuckled. "Why aren't you at the hospital?"   
  
"Wouldn't let them take me until I knew Jason was okay," she replied. "Hey, do you think that Robin kid is a bit of a punk? You came from Gotham, right? Was he always like that?"   
  
Dick shrugged. "Hell if I know, all I know is that I hope they leave and don't come back."   
  
Delatejera lifted an eyebrow. "Not a fan of superheroes?"   
  
"I- uh- no, I like superheroes, but wasn't this whole thing kind of Batman's fault?"   
  
Delatejera suddenly groaned and rolled her eyes. "Not you too!" When Dick gave her a confused look, she sighed like she was about to explain something to a toddler. "Look, it wasn't Batman and Robin's fault. Jason and I blew our own cover. Got some facts wrong on our backgrounds and we were outed at the worst time. Gotham's finest jumped into the fray before Jason and I could be killed. Without Batman and Robin, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have known we died until you found our bodies dumped in a ditch somewhere. I already had to explain that to _so_ many people."   
  
Dick considered her words for a moment. "I understand," he said slowly.   
  
"Good, now you look like hell, go home and sleep, Grayson."   
  
"That was what I was going to do before you dragged me over here."   
  
Delatejera smiled and punched his shoulder.   


* * *

  
Three weeks later found Dick standing on the stage with about six other officers. He was being called a hero, his name was printed in papers as Blüdhaven's White Knight.   
  
"Congratulations, officers," the commissioner said as each cop being honored lowered their heads and let the red ribboned metal be slipped over their necks. Flashing cameras started up and clapping hands began. Dick put on his best smile and looked into the crowd and faltered when he saw three familiar faces.   
  
Honestly, he wasn't surprised Bruce knew about the ceremony. He hadn't told Bruce about the ceremony, but there was no doubt he found out on his own. What he was surprised about was that he was actually there, sitting with Alfred and Jason in the front row, clapping his hands and smiling just a fraction.   
  
After a couple more speeches, Dick jumped down from the podium and made his way over to Bruce and the others. Once he got there, he saw Bruce chatting with the captain and Alfred standing politely off to the side. Jason was the first one to notice he had joined the party. A mischievous smirk spread on his face.   
  
"I can't believe they gave you a metal for being a drama queen, Goldilocks." Jason said with no scarce of snark.   
  
Dick grinned. "I know right, I'm finally getting the recognition I deserve."   
  
Jason's smirk was wiped off his face. He rolled his eyes. "Ass."   
  
"Dick."   
  
Oh man, he'd recognize that monotonous voice anywhere. He looked away from Jason to Bruce. The captain was gone, probably to chat with other members of law enforcement. "Hey," he said quietly, "thanks for coming."   
  
"We would have appreciated an invite, Master Dick," Alfred said, and while he did sound a little disappointed, the look on his face was that of pride.   
  
Dick reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry about that… slipped my mind." Alfred humphed and Dick gave him a lopsided grin. He returned his gaze to Bruce and cleared his throat. "Um, I'm sorry about how I acted… back there." Bruce narrowed his eyes. "I found out what really happened and I shouldn't have yelled at you or blamed you."   
  
Bruce was silent for a second before he opened his mouth. "There is no need for an apology," he started slowly, "I was overstepping the boundaries you set and you did not know the whole story. We both could have handled it better."   
  
That was a pretty good apology considering who it came from.   
  
Alfred suddenly cleared his throat, making Bruce stand up a bit straighter. "Dick, we-" Alfred cleared his throat again, " _I_ , would… appreciate it if you joined us at the manor for a celebratory dinner."   
  
It was cute how hard he was trying. "Yeah, sure, that sounds great," he said, smiling.   
  
Bruce seemed to relax a bit and Jason elbowed Dick in the side.   
  
"Hey, you could show me your gun-" Bruce growled a bit at the sentence, but Jason plowed on ignoring him- "and you can also show me your room. Bruce won't let me in there. We could tell dirty secrets and you can show me your secret stash of porn-"   
  
" _Master Jason_!"   
  
Dick laughed harder than he had for awhile, so hard he almost cried. He clapped Jason's shoulder. "No porn, but we can hang a bit," he said once he had caught his breath. "Anything for my little bro, Jay bird."   
  
"Oh God, he gave me a nickname," Jason said, looking like he regretted even opening his mouth, but everyone knew that he was just a little excited to finally spend a little time with his big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Presumed Dead! I'm thinking the general vote is Nightwing getting kidnapped and being presumed dead by the Batfam, which therefore allows the kidnappers to do whatever they want to our poor boy until the bats somehow find out he's alive or stumble upon his bloodied body. Idk, give me ideas guys.
> 
> Also, after this one will be Stalking, which was the only other one specifically requested in the comments or on Tumblr so far, so come on guys.
> 
> *Puts on Gina voice from B99* step up your game, flame emoji one hundred emoji eyeball emoji :/


	5. Missing and Presumed Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrorist makes his debut in Blüdhaven, and he has set his eyes on Nightwing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to be this long... But when I have fun writing things they seem to get longer...
> 
> Warning: this one is dark! It's about as dark as the first one except there's more torture and descriptions of injuries!

Every villain had different ways of going about their evil deeds. Joker liked to cause mass panic, killing more people by having them trampled by fellow victims. Two-Face enjoyed order while keeping an element of surprise and randomness to make him both intimidating and hard to figure out. Penguin liked to sit back and let grunts do the dirty work, Ra's Al Ghul fancied being an intimidating figure to make you believe you'd rather fight his underlings than face him.  
  
But there were other villains in the world, villains that didn't have an MO, that popped out of nowhere and threw everyone through the loop.  
  
No one knew his name, all they knew was that he wore a mask and gave long speeches on hacked TV's before a bomb was set off, destroying entire blocks of Blüdhaven, killing hundreds in one fell swoop of terror.  
  
Nightwing was frantic, the terrorist attacks were so random and spread apart that it had been two weeks and no leads had been found. Seven bombs had been activated, killing thousands, hundreds more were wounded, a gut wrenching amount were missing, probably buried in a grave made of rubble… or burned into ash from the heat of the explosion. People had been told to leave the city, or at least get out of the most popular areas, but it was impossible to evacuate at City of that size. It was like trying to moving an elephant. So Nighting did his best, losing countless hours of sleep trying to track the bomber down. Batman and Robin were busy with the Joker—who was on his own special rampage—so Nightwing was alone.  
  
That was until Oracle forced him to let her in.  
  
She made him get sleep while she worked on her computer. She had been present for the past three bombings, doing her darndest to grab the signal of the broadcasting, but every time she found the signals we're expertly bounced off different satellites.  
  
It was day 19 when broadcast number eight came in. One of her screens lit up and instantly shown her the newest video. She began to trace it without hesitation. She absently felt her phone buzz in her pocket, so as she typed away with one hand, her second pressed the answer button and put it on speaker.  
  
"Y _ou see it_?"  
  
Dick's voice. He sounded tired. Exhausted. When this whole thing was over, she was forcing him to take a trip to Hawaii or something.  
  
"Already on it," she answered.  
  
She glared at the screen showing the broadcast and continued to trace.  
  
The screen showed an empty white room, it was always the same room. A couple seconds passed before a figure practically danced into the frame, the lower half of his face was covered with a skull bandana and a Blüdhaven Bloodhounds baseball cap sat on his head. The rest of his body was covered in a black hoodie and skinny jeans of the same color. " _Good evening, Blüdhaven_!" The man said joyfully. He clapped his hands.  
  
" _Good news! This will be the last time you hear from me. I have accomplished what I have been working towards from the beginning._ " The man gave himself a round of applause.  
  
"T _hat doesn't make any sense… the bombings are random,_ " Dick suddenly said over the phone. His voice sounded far away, like he had put her on speaker as well. She figured he was busy putting his suit on. " _What would they have accomplished_?"  
  
Barbra was quiet for a moment as she watched the man laugh and explain how much fun he had playing with Blüdhaven.  
  
She pulled up a map that shown each location of the explosions. To anyone's eye, even Batman's when he had agreed to look at it while Joker was being silent, it looked completely random. The citizens who lived and worked in each location were of all different kinds of classes. Casinos were just as destroyed as churches, shopping districts were torn to shreds just like parks.  
  
" _And Nightwing, I must say bravo!_ " The terrorist said. Barbara looked at the screen in surprise, never once had the man mentioned Blüdhaven's very own dark night. " _You always got to my party tricks in the nick of time_ ."  
  
The way he said that made Barbara's stomach churn. Something wasn't right.  
  
She looked again at the map and narrowed her eyes. "Dick… how often did you leave to the bombings from your apartment?" She asked slowly, praying to God she was wrong.  
  
" _Um… all of them? I couldn't find a way to get the streaming to connect to my phone, so I had to wait for them at my TV."_   
  
" _It's been a lovely game, Nightwing_ ," the terrorist continued. Barbara looked at the map again, and then it all made sense.  
  
She swore.  
  
"Dick, you have to get out of there, now."  
  
" _What? Babs, I_ -"  
  
"B _ut I'm afraid I have to now bid adieu_ -"  
  
"Damnit Dick, he's been triangulating your location!"  
  
The broadcast cut off, and so did the phone call with Dick.  
  
She sat still at the computer, not even breathing. A second passed. Two.  
  
She shakily grabbed her phone and redialed Dick's number.  
  
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," she chanted. Her hands began to shake. "Pick up, Dick. C'mon…"  
  
Live news feed popped up on one of her screens, showing a fuzzy video someone captured on their phone of the exact moment a group of apartment buildings went up in flames.  
  
" _You've reached the phone of Dick Grayson, please leave a message after the beep! BEEP_!"  
  
_Beep._   
  
Barbara dropped her phone onto the ground and hardly even noticed the tears that streamed down her face.  


* * *

  
Waking up was agony, no doubt about it. His skin felt pulled tight over his muscles and bones, like the slightest movement would split it open. His head pounded and it took several attempts to actually open his eyes. He groaned when he did, being met with only a world of blurry grays and whites that made his pupils ache. It was hard to breathe, like something was stuck in his lungs. Every inhale of air made a weird noise come from his chest.  
  
He hissed in pain when his hand twitched against his will, but it also made his world pause for a second when the movement caught his attention onto something else.  
  
He couldn't move his hand. Both of them for that matter. After a bit of painful twitching, he found he couldn't move his legs from their position as well.  
  
Despite the agony racing through every nerve in his body, he forced his head up to get a look at what was causing his lack of movement. He looked down first, because whatever he was laying on was tilted at an angle and it was easier on his neck to fo so, and what he saw made his stomach do a cartwheel.  
  
His legs were a mess of red, pink, and scabbing skin, but the state of his legs didn't matter when he saw the leather straps wrapped around his ankles.  
  
Frantically, he looked up to his wrists that we're stuck above his head, and they too were restrained to the surface below him.  
  
"The hell-" he whispered before his body cut him off with a collection of throat tearing coughs.  
  
Once his body settled down, all he could was go limp against the surface below him and attempt to catch his breath, eyes shut closed. All his energy was drained, spent against his will.  
  
A couple seconds passed and he couldn't take the quiet stillness around him. The least he could do was open his eyes again and look around him. All he knew at the moment was that he was restrained spread-eagle to a titled table and in a state of intense, pulsing pain.  
  
He forced his eyes open again and this time looked at the space in front of him. He was met with a boring white wall. He carefully tilted his head to look over his shoulders, and found he was met with the same scenery.  
  
Okay. He was in a small room. Good to know.  
  
He looked again at the state of his legs and hissed when he saw his raw looking flesh wasn't the only thing there. What looked like melted wax colored blue and black wound around his calves and came up into some horrid, melted version of his Nightwing costume higher up his legs. He felt the material of his suit sit uncomfortably around his crotch and stomach, it sat snug and deformed against his chest and latched onto his neck. He knew without looking that his arms would be in the same state of his legs, blistered and so close to bleeding with the sleeves of his suit melted onto his skin.  
  
A clicking caught his attention behind him. He wished he could turn his neck and look, but the pain he knew would come with the movement made him second guess. Before he could work up the courage, the sound of footsteps came up behind him and then the figure belonging to them came into his peripheral vision.  
  
He couldn't stop his small gasp of surprise.  
  
It was the bomber... The one he and Oracle had been tracking down for the better part of two weeks. Flashes of television screens and phantom pain of his eardrums bursting with the sound of an explosion attacked him. He suddenly remembered that the last thing he had been doing was getting into his suit as Barbara screamed something over the phone… there was a flash, a moment of intense pain... and then nothing.  
  
The bomber wore the same thing he had in the video. He stopped right in front of Dick and stood with his hands behind his back and a thoughtful tilt in his head.  
  
Dick opened his mouth. "H… how?" He whispered because his throat burned and his lungs felt clogged.  
  
The bomber's eyes crinkled up around the edge, making it known a smile had grown.  
  
"Simple, actually," the bomber said. He suddenly walked up to Dick and looked him over with intense eyes. Dick shifted uncomfortably and tried to fight against his restraints. "Just timed how long it took for you to get to each bomb, calculated your average speed, and pinpointed your location."  
  
He suddenly reached out a hand and picked at some of the melted suit on Dick's legs. Dick sucked in a breath when the suit had began to be pulled away from his skin.  
  
A strip of black came off painfully and with no expense of difficulty, leaving Dick's skin stinging and slightly bleeding where the melted piece pulled off scab with it.  
  
"Wh-what if… I died in t-the explosion?"  
  
The bomber shrugged. "Then I'd be known as the guy who killed Nightwing, but since you lived and I got to you in time," his eyes narrowed dangerously, making Nightwing think he was smirking under his bandana, "I'll be known as the guy who _tortured_ Nightwing."  
  
Dick repressed a hiss of pain when the bomber reached over and tore off another melted piece of suit, this time from his arm. Blood oozed lazily over his sensitive skin.  
  
"Kevlar doesn't melt," the bomber said in a bored tone of voice, "but it looks like you have some spandex blend in there. Bad choice for a fire, isn't it?"  
  
Dick leaned his head back and locked his jaw, deciding it would be best to just ignore the psycho for the time being and try to figure out a way out. He tugged at the leather belt restraining his wrists as the terrorist continued to pull off each melted piece of suit off from his skin, tearing up scabs and layers of the skin with it, making his whole body shutter with the burning pain that came when each strip came loose.  
  
Dick's been burned before. You don't move into an appointment alone and try to cook by yourself for the first time without getting a major burn somewhere on your body. He remembered that the little area where his forearm somehow touched the side of a sauce pan was an angry red for a couple days, constantly in considerable and tight pain, before it scabbed over and scarred after what must have been a week or two.  
  
He didn't have to go to a doctor to know his new burns were worse than that one, and that they were all over. Blisters ooze foul smelling pus and scabs littered everywhere on his body, sloppily. Everywhere was agony.  
  
It didn't help that the man leaning over him was having fun peeling off melted spandex, some pieces were difficult to get off and they were tugged off like duct tape, almost getting him to vocalize how much pain he was.  
  
However, even as the hours ticked on, Dick remained glaring and the ceiling and and grinding his jaw. The only movement he made was when his body's natural reaction to pain made a limb jerk or his breath catch.  
  
Eventually, Dick was left in a suit that really only managed to cover his chest and lower body. His legs and arms were a mess of pulled scabs and blood mixing with blister fluid. He could feel a nasty cut on his neck where the bomber decided to tear off a particularly "tempting" (his words, not Dick's) strip of melted suit.  
  
Finally, from what must have been hours, the bomber slouched away from Dick and wiped his bloodied hands on his pants. "You're boring," the terrorist said. He stared at Nightwing as Dick ignored him. The torturer suddenly shrugged and patted Dick's cheek. "Don't worry, we have all the time in the world."  
  
That didn't sound good.  
  
The terrorist didn't specify before he sniffed and then turned to walk out the room. When the door clicked shut behind Dick, he let his tense muscles relax with a strangled whimper of pain escaping his lips. He angrily strained once again against his restraints.  


* * *

  
The eighth bombing, true to the terrorist's words, was the last one. It was also the first one Nightwing did not show up to. Up to three hundred people lived in that block of apartment buildings that were now grounded like old ruins. Many people were injured, many more had been trapped under rubble with third degree burns until they've been dug out.  
  
Many died.  
  
And Nightwing didn't bother to show up.  
  
At least, that was according to the public. To Bruce, it was like a slap-in-the-face reminder that Nightwing.… Dick was missing. It wasn't rare to not find people after attacks like that, the flames were so intense that flesh was melted right off skeletons, the debris crushing bones and blackening them so they looked no different from the ash around them. Sometimes the damaged buildings were so large that as it was cleared away over a series of weeks, more bodies would be found.  
  
He just wished that, as the time went by, someone would find something relating to Dick Grayson in the rubble of his apartment.  
  
Even if that something was a body, because thinking that his body was completely destroyed in the explosion made him want to scream. Even though the thought that his eldest died in the midst of a terrorist attack made his skin crawl, the thought of never even seeing him again hurt even worse.  
  
The cops and firefighters seemed to understand that, telling him that they haven't found anything, so there was still hope, his son was just _missing_.  
  
Missing.  
  
However, as hard as he tried to convince himself that Dick was just trapped, probably pinned under rubble and unable to help himself, waiting for someone to move the last stone, sitting with his lopsided grin… as hard as it was to force himself to go to Blüdhaven and search himself during the night even though the Joker was still in his latest reign of terror… days past. Days that would kill anyone from dehydration and starvation, days that made headlines on newspapers change from "BILLIONAIRE BRUCE WAYNE SON RICHARD 'DICK' GRAYSON: MISSING" to "DICK GRAYSON: WAYNE FAMILIES SECOND TRAGIC DEATH".  
  
Days that involved the traitorous voice in the back of his head tell him he needed to start preparing a funeral.  
  
Eventually, he gave into it.  


* * *

  
Time ticked slowly when Dick was alone, stuck in place with straps digging into his skin, tearing his wrists with his struggles, doing nothing but adding precious blood to the rest of his filthy body. Time went even slowly when the bomber strolled in, with a knife or a a bag of salt or a taser… whatever he was in the mood for. Dick could do nothing but glare through his halfway melted mask on his face and count in his head.  
  
Fifteen, a broken finger. Eighty, a icepick stuck in the palm of his hand. Two-hundred, hands tearing at his skin, reopening wounds that were stubborn enough to close during the periods he wasn't being tortured. One thousand, a taser shoved inside his inner thigh.  
  
He screamed at number five-thousand-fifty-seven when an acid was poured over the knife wounds in his chest. After that, he couldn't stop. Everything hurt _so much_ , and he couldn't do anything about it. The bomber didn't want information, he didn't want to humiliate, he didn't want to negotiate. He just wanted to kill Nightwing as slowly and as painfully as possible, take a selfie when he's done, and get on the good side of Blüdhaven's villains.  
  
The bomber dropped the bucket of acid off to the side and laughed as Dick desperately tried to catch his breath and restart his counting, because that was the only thing keeping him sane.  
  
"You have such a lovely voice," the bomber said, dragging a gloved hand over Dick's chest, pressing and making the wounds sting and hiss, "you should use it more."  
  
The numbers jumbled up in his head and he couldn't help but break his trance and glare at the terrorist. "Y-you w… won't get… get away-" he groaned when the bomber pressed harder on a particularly deep wound in his shoulder.  
  
"You think Batman is going to save you?" The bomber asked. Dick groaned when the terrorist started to dig his fingers into the wound. Blood squirted and trialed down Dick's chest.  
  
"H-he'll- _ah_!" The bomber pulled his hand away from Dick's wound and backed up, grinning under his bandana.  
  
"He's not coming, none of them are," the bomber said as he ungloved his hands. Dick glared and the bomber laughed. "I'm serious, here, I'll show you."  
  
The bomber walked behind the table Dick was strapped to and came back a second later with a newspaper   
  
"Just look at the headline," the bomber said excitingly. He held up the paper and Dick couldn't help but pale.  
  
**_BRUCE WAYNE ANNOUNCES PRIVATE FUNERAL FOR DICK GRAYSON_**.  
  
Dick let his eyes trail over the article. "Tim Drake asks to let family grieve in peace." "Damian Wayne had to be pulled back from attacking a pushy reporter" "second death in the family" "Bruce Wayne takes a break from Wayne Industries"… suddenly, the paper was torn away from Dick's eyes only for the bomber to turn and look at the article himself.  
  
"I mean, I've spent enough time with you to know who you are," the bomber said quietly, "it was only a matter of time I found out who the rest of the family are. Don't worry though, I won't give away your identities or anything." He threw the paper down onto the floor and looked Dick straight in the eye. "They think you're dead, and technically, they're not wrong. You'll be gone soon, I just don't want to give you false hope that _someone_ is _actually_ looking for you."  
  
Dick was silent as the bomber walked away. He felt pressure build at the back of his eyes when the door clicked shut, but he didn't let himself cry. Instead, he tugged his wrists again. If Bruce wasn't going to look for him, he'd have to escape by himself.  
  
The thought of no one coming for him did the opposite of what the bomber intended, it filled him with determination.  


* * *

  
Jason was the first to bring up the idea, Tim just wished he had waited until after the funeral. It was an early May morning and he sat at the dining table, poking at his omelet and tugging at the tie wrapped around his neck. He hadn't taken a single bite of food, but he knew that if he did it wouldn't taste the same. It would taste just a bit off, proof that Alfred was grieving too.  
  
Jason burst into the dining room, dressed in his classic leather jacket and cargo jeans. He hadn't bothered to take off his boots.  
  
"Jason, why aren't you dressed?" Bruce growled from the head of the table. Damian scoffed and angrily took a bite of his breakfast.  
  
"Because I'm not going," Jason said. He stood in the doorway and folded his arms, not even flinching when Bruce slammed his hands down on the table.  
  
"Why not?" Cass asked quietly.  
  
Before Jason could answer, Bruce stood up. "This is your _brother's_ funeral. I will not allow you to just _skip_ it."  
  
Jason glared back at Bruce. "I'm going to Blüdhaven. I'm going to find that bastard terrorist and put him six feet under."  
  
"You can't wait three hours? You can't do something this simple for Dick?" Bruce snarled.  
  
Jason out up an offensive posture. "Back off old man," Jason growled, "I don't see the point of wasting my time on an empty casket when I could be _out_ there catching the guy who did this!"  
  
Tim looked back down at his omelet and stabbed it with his fork as Bruce argued back. It turned into a screaming match where both parties were so hurt and neither had no clue how to deal with the guilt and disbelief swirling inside them. Alfred eventually had to step in before Bruce and Jason could throw hands.  
  
"Master Jason," Alfred said dangerously calm, "you will put on the tuxedo I left for you and you will attend the funeral. I will not take no for an answer. Leave this… _revenge_ till after."  
  
Jason opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he huffed angrily and stormed out of the dining room, hopefully to put on the suit. Bruce sat back down at the head of the table and put his head in his hands.  
  
Four hours later, a broken family walked back into the manor. Alfred walked past and disappeared into the kitchen, either to begin dinner or to mourn in his own way while the rest of the family all stood in the middle of the front room.  
  
Bruce suddenly cleared his throat. "Be in the cave in ten," he said before he stalked away.  
  
For a second, Tim almost asked "what about the Joker?" and then he watched as Jason followed after Bruce, already pulling off the tie around his neck, and he realized that at that moment… the Joker didn't really matter. There was a bigger monster out there, one that took away his big brother.  
  
Tim met eyes with Damian, who had been practically silent ever since Barbara called the manor, sobs present in her voice, before they both began to run over to the entrance of the cave.  
  
Cass wasn't far behind.  


* * *

  
Dick had no idea how he was still alive. Days must have passed, leaving him starving and thirsty, and he had lost an amazing amount of blood. The bomber forced Dick to drink water every once in awhile, but that was about it. He also discovered he had an infection on one of his many wounds, giving him a fever and making him prone to vomiting.  
  
But, even though his body had begun to shut down on him, he didn't give up on rubbing his wrists into a bloody mess in the leather belts. He discovered some fraying at one of the seams and since them, whenever the bomber wasn't watching, Dick had worked tirelessly to get his wrist free.  
  
Finally, his wrist came free from the table with the sound of tearing leather.  
  
He would have celebrated, but it was at that moment he heard footsteps approaching. He ignored the way his limbs shook with agony as he reached over and sloppily undid the restraint on his other wrists, and then he was bending down and getting his ankles free. Once he was free, he shoved himself away from the table and planted his feet on the cold, tiled floor below him.  
  
And he promptly fell over.  
  
He cursed and shoved his shivering arms below him and he eventually pushed himself up so he was leaning against the wall behind him.  
  
It was at that moment the bomber opened the door.  
  
The bomber stopped in his tracks at the sight of Dick no longer pinned to the table. He slowly clicked the door behind him and took a step towards Dick.  
  
"What are you doing?" The bomber asked, amusement lacing his tone. Dick glared and repositioned his arms on the wall to better hold himself up. "You know, trying to escape is hopeless, right? You're weak, and I'm stronger than-"  
  
Dick didn't listen to another single word. He forced himself on autopilot and pushed his body away from the wall, throwing his fist into the jaw of his torturer. There was a painful sounding _pop_ and the bomber fell to the ground with a groan. Dick didn't bother to stay in the room, and next thing he knew, he was grabbing the door handle and stumbling into a long hallway.  


* * *

  
The building was only two stories tall, but even Batman could feel something intimidating resonating from it. After hours of research, he—with the help of Oracle and Red Robin—had managed to find a potential hide out of the terrorist. The clan suited up and began their way towards Blüdhaven directly after that.  
  
"Kick ass, guys," Oracle said. There was no way to see her, but they all knew she had a determined glint in her eyes.  
  
They got to the building in record time, the only reason of why they got there so fast would be because no cop would pull over the Batmobile.  
  
"Red Robin," Batman said as he climbed out of the mobile, the rest of the bats were not far behind, "head to the roof of the opposite b-"  
  
"No way," Red Robin said, glaring hard, "I'm going in there too."  
  
"Don't even ask," Robin chimed in.  
  
Red Hood shrugged, "Don't look at me."  
  
Batman sighed and looked at Orphan, who only said "no" before she folded her arms around her chest.  
  
Batman was about to argue back, but then the noise of a heavy door being opened caught all of their attention. They spun around and Batman quickly cursed himself for not surveying the building first when the door swung open, expecting the bomber to walk out…  
  
But it wasn't the bomber… it was a familiar head of black hair whose body was covered in so many bruises and cuts and burns that of it wasn't for the shredded remains of a black and blue suit, Batman wouldn't have recognized him.  
  
"DICK!" Red Robin screamed as the body tripped and fell limp onto the asphalt below him.  
  
Next thing he knew, Bruce was sprinting.  
  
He didn't pay any mind to the footsteps running after him, all he cared about was that Dick—it had to be some sort of trick!!—was groaning on the ground and desperately trying to lift himself up. Bruce skidded to a hault just inches from Dick, he felt himself lower his body and hold a hand out, as if to touch him but afraid that if he tried, the smoke and mirrors will become a reality.  
  
He was also afraid that anywhere he put his hands would hurt him.  
  
Dick gasped and reached out instead, weak hands clawed at Bruce's chest. "You- you c-ame-" he said in a broken whisper.  
  
Bruce knew he was crying. His son's hands were so real against his chest. He took a shuddering breath and carefully gathered Dick into his arms as Dick broke out into sobs as well.  
  
They sat like that, for what amount of time neither of them could tell. Bruce felt more bodies join their hug, he could see Damian gently grasp on to Dick's waist and Tim grab onto Bruce's arm with one hand and desperately wiped at his eyes with the other as Cass crawled in next to Damian.   
  
It took a moment for Bruce to realize someone was missing.  
  
"Where is J-"  
  
A series of gunshots came from inside the building.  
  
Bruce knew instantly what had happened, but for the moment he didn't care. He'd reprimand him about it later… for now he lifted Dick, who was slowly losing consciousness, into his arms. He needed a hospital… therapy maybe… a few surgeries to get rid of the scars… but for now he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang Bruce, how y'all going to explain this one? Maybe agent 37 will have to make a return or something. 
> 
> Next up: stalking! I haven't actually written it yet, but I can tell just from here that next chapter will probably be the darkest. So, idk, prepare yourselves. I'm not going to write anything explicit... But it will get creepy.


	6. Stalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone with a grudge on Dick escapes from jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY GOD THIS CHAPTER WAS SO HARD TO WRITE.
> 
> This took forever to write because I REWROTE IT LITERALLY FOUR TIMES. It was so difficult to figure out who would stalk Dick and why, I went from son of rich business man who has a creepy crush on Dick to psychotic girl Dick arrested years ago came out for vengeance. I just- ugh. So to just relax and recharge my brain, I sat down and watched some Batman: The Animated Series episodes and I watch one that gave me an idea. So I wrote it. See if you can guess what episodes I watched. I doubt it would be too difficult.
> 
> Also, I took some liberties on canon in this chapter. Dick's personality is a bit different, I think I based him more off of the Titans version then the fanon version. Also the villian's personality I changed a bit just because I think he's pathetic in most canon portrayals of him, and I don't think a guy like him that did so much damage to Dick should be portrayed as a complete wimp.
> 
> I'm not satisfied with this chapter, but at this point I don't care... Let's just let this one be the ugly sheep of the family that we'll forget exsisted when I write the next chapter...

First, it was the poster. Haley's Circus, whenever preparing for another show, would print out hundreds of posters unique to that show and plaster them on lamp posts and billboards. It was hard to have internet connection when you were constantly on the move, so the circus enjoyed spreading the word the old fashioned way. Dick remembered that the Strong Man enjoyed grabbing one of each poster after a show and stashing them away, a remembrance of each performance in their exciting lives.    
  
Now he was 26, and he had seen the posters here and there when he happened to be in the same city as his old family. The cartoon-ish faces of the circus members have changed over the years, but each poster had that pizzazz that gave someone the feeling of "wow, the circus looks fun!" The borders were bright colors and striped, not a boring spot even in the golden, cursive letters. Pop Haley used to joke that PT Barnum only wished his circus posters could inflict as much excitement as his own circus.    
  
Dick had one or two posters, just his favorite ones that his parents remembered to find before they left to the next city. All the ones he owned had his parents and himself drawn into a spotlight, announcing that the one and only Flying Grayson's would entrance the crowd with their magical, death defying stunts. Whenever he looked at them, he found himself missing the trapeze and the smell of peanuts and the tight, flashy jumpsuits.    
  
He always associated those posters with happy times in his life… never… never this.   
  
He had just jumped out of the taxi, waving goodbye to the taxi driver he was lucky enough to get twice that day (siriously, what were the chances of that?) as he walked up the two flights of stairs up to his apartment door.    
  
He didn't even notice it taped up on his door until he dug out his keys from his pocket and lifted them to his door handle.    
  
The first thing he noticed was the familiar golden lettering, and he almost smiled at it. For a second, he thought that maybe his downstairs neighbor whom Dick found out had gone to a couple shows way back when Dick was still apart of it had taped it there. Some kind of gift or something, but then his eyes trailed down and his blood turned to ice. He recognized the poster, each were unique, designed to appeal to the people of each different area they performed in. This one was a mixture of grays, blacks, and dark blues, designing a dark city in the background. The main attraction of the poster would be the fire breather, spitting fire like a dragon. The fire swirled and made different loops, showing different acts like a tiger jumping or the fat lady singing. In one of the hoops there were three figures and a trapeze: one was a woman, one a man, one a young boy.    
  
It was the poster of his last ever performance in the circus, the one that invited Bruce Wayne and covered the streets of Gotham.    
  
And if that wasn't bad enough, over the faces of his parents were two, drawn on red "X"s. Red circled Dick's own face, as if to say "It's your turn."   
  


* * *

  
Dick's apartment complex didn't have cameras. It would be more difficult to perform as Nightwing in the dark if there were cameras; so there was no way besides good, old fashioned door knocking to try and figure out who was moronic enough to threaten him; with his parents last performance no less.    
  
However, after hours of dusting the poster for fingerprints and even running the X's through a handwriting recognition program, he came up with nothing. He went to every single door of his complex and asked if they'd seen anything and every person said no. He looked at the camera feed from the surrounding buildings and traffic intersections but he couldn't pick out anyone suspicious from a group of completely random.   
  
Eventually, the sun was going down and there became nothing he could do besides drop the poster in the sink, drizzle on some lighter fluid, burn the poster, and hope that the whole issue didn't forecast something horrible.   
  


* * *

  
Nothing happened the next day, or the one after that. When Officer Grayson holstered the gun and normal Dick walked up to his apartment, there were no more posters or foreboding messages threatening him. As time progressed, he became halfway convinced that whatever happened was a highly over the top prank from someone who must have really hated him.    
  
That was until he decided to be a responsible adult and go out to get his mail. He opened his front door, rubbing his eyes with morning grogginess, and stepped on something. He looked down and sitting on the ground looking too damn innocent was a yellow folder file. He bent down and slowly picked it up. Just from the weight of it he could feel multiple papers residing inside.   
  
Then he opened it.   
  
"What the hell," Dick whispered to himself as he lifted the first of many full-sized photos up for him to get a closer look at.   
  
It was of him walking down one of the busier streets of Blüdhaven. He recognized the clothes he was wearing as the exact outfit he wore just a couple days ago. The small numbers that made a date at the bottom right hand corner confirmed his suspicions.    
  
He looked at the next of what must be at least 30 pictures with a pit of something like dread forming in his stomach. All were of him wearing various outfits and doing different things. Some were of him sitting in the patrol car on stake out others were of him sitting at one of his favorite Café's sipping coffee.   
  
Dick has had people follow him around with cameras before. You don't become the eldest son of Bruce Wayne without media taking attention to you. When he was younger, he'd find paparazzi sitting outside his school, sometimes he'd be reading in the library and he'd notice the flash of a camera. Usually he'd be able to catch the photographer as they're taking the picture or even before the flash goes, but sometimes he missed one or two, and he'd be scrolling through articles on his phone or walking past a shelf of magazines and he'd see a picture he didn't know was taken. It was off putting in the worst way possible. It made it feel like his life was out of control and that he may be trained by the best, but he still missed things.   
  
He only felt better after those times after Bruce himself admitted to having his picture taken multiple times without having noticed, and it was nothing to be ashamed of, just be more careful next time.   
  
But this? This was 36 photos of him in the span of three days. He should have noticed all of them, or at least one or two. It didn't matter who the photo taker was, he should have noticed then eventually. No one had ever been able to follow him without his noticing for longer than five hours, and Cass and Damian shared that record time.    
  
He didn't go down to get the mail. He back back into his apartment, dropped the file on his coffee table, and pulled out his computer once again to try and find out who had left the next gift at his doorstep.   
  


* * *

  
Out of pure stubbornness, Dick walked to work the next day. He hadn't found a single thing on his new aparent stalker, so he figured he'd offer himself as bait and wait for the stalker to come to him. His senses were on high alert, dialed up to 11. Dialed up to Nightwing.    
  
Halfway through the walk to work, he was happy to notice that it worked. For the past five minutes there had been a figure dressed in raggy brown and a beanie tailing him. Their head was low and their hands were in their pockets, but Dick was sure this person was following him. He decided it was time for confrontation, so he took a sharp turn down an alleyway and hid behind a dumpster. A couple seconds later, the tail jogged into the alley with their head turning back and forth wildly.    
  
They hissed swears and curses under their breath before they looked further down the alley and started to run again. Suspicions confirmed, Dick pounced out from behind the dumpster, grabbed the person, and roughly shoved them against the wall.   
  
"Who are you?" Dick hissed. Spittle flew from his clenched teeth and sprayed the face of the stalker. The stalker flinched and whimpered as they brought their hands up to Dick's to try to get free. When Dick breathed in he could smell the tell tale scent of pot.   
  
Dick couldn't believe it. This person was the one who had been making him lose hours of sleep? The same one who left the poster and folder file? Anger fueled his arms to relax just a bit to allow him to slam the stalker against the wall again.    
  
"Who are you?" He repeated himself, but with just a bit more threat laced in his tone.   
  
The figure shook his head. "Sorry! I'm sorry! Let go, man!"   
  
"What do you want? Why were you following me?" Dick brought his face closer to intimidate the stalker despite the nauseating smell of drugs.   
  
"Look!" The stalker said frantically, "I was told to follow you! Said he'd give me a hundred!"   
  
"He? He who?"   
  
"I don't know! He just came up to me and gave a hundred! I was just doing what he said!"   
  
Dick was silent for a second as the stalker... the random druggie that apparently just apart of the real stalkers plan whimpered against the wall.   
  
Then, suddenly, the click of a camera and the slight flashing of a light. Dick released the druggie—who slumped down to the ground to whimper some more—and spun around to see a camera being lowered at the other end of the alley, where a man had began to run away.    
  
"I'm not done with you," Dick growled before he ran after other man. He heard a small sniffle behind him but that no longer mattered. What mattered was that the man with the camera took a sharp turn out of the alley. Dick forced his legs to move faster and in just a few seconds he burst onto the sidewalk of a busy street.    
  
There were people everywhere.   
  
Dick swore and spun his head around, looking at each pedestrian that walked past him. He grabbed shoulders and looked at the faces of those who looked like they were wearing the same jacket, but after a couple minutes, Dick was left with a heaving chest, standing on the middle of a sea of people.    
  
Suddenly, there was the sound of a gunshot.   
  
People around him screamed but Dick only swore. He spun on his heel and pushed himself through the panicking crowd until he got back to the mouth of the alleyway. His blood ran cold.   
  
There, right where Dick left him, was the druggie, completely still with blood pooling down the hole in the middle of his forehead, brains and chunks of skull painted the wall behind him.   
  


* * *

  
"Are we done here?" Dick asked, shifting in the cold metal chair of the police interrogation room. "I gave you my statement, and my shift started an hour ago."   
  
Or a modified one. Dick was walking to work and he heard the gun. It wasn't like he could tell the cops he slammed the victim against the wall multiple times before the time of death. Dick would become a suspect and he really didn't need that.    
  
The detective looked through a couple of her files in her arms before she nodded. "Yeah, looks all good, officer."   
  
"Thanks," Dick replied as he pushed himself to his feet, "I'll see you, later."   
  
He was let out of the interrogation and he continued to begin his day time job.    
  
And try to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.   
  


* * *

  
The last thing Dick needed was to see another present sitting on his doorstep when he came home, but there it was, sitting all smug on his welcome matt like it owned the place.    
  
It was another folder file, but when he bent down and opened it, there was a single picture sitting there.    
  
A picture of Dick holding Mason Jeffords—homeless, know for spending any money he got on drugs, a victim of murder earlier that morning—against the wall angrily. At the bottom of the picture was the time, just a couple minutes before the time of death.    
  
Dick sighed and was about to close the file before he noticed something was written on the back.    
  
He honestly didn't think he'd be even more surprised by what his stalker was willing to do until that moment, because in the middle of the black backside of the photo were the words "One of two, await further instructions" written in sharpie.   
  
Great. So not only was Dick getting majorly stalked, but he was just set up for blackmail.    
  


* * *

  
"You're getting blackmailed?" Bruce growled, like it was Dick's fault. Dick glared at his laptop screen and lowered his newest gift down from when he had been showing Bruce.    
  
"And stalked," Dick said. Bruce narrowed his eyes and there was the sound of Tim scoffing from off the screen. "Look," Dick continued, "I don't need your help, B, but I'm asking for it. These guys are constantly three steps ahead of me."   
  
Bruce was silent for a second, frowning. Finally, he looked up. "How long has this been happening?"   
  
"Almost a week," Dick said.   
  
Tim squawked on the other side of computer while the look on Bruce's face darkened.    
  
"Bruce?" Dick asked. Something was up… something Bruce knew that Dick didn't. "What's going on?"   
  
"You didn't tell him?" Tim asked suddenly.   
  
"Tell me what? Bruce, what's he talking about?"   
  
Bruce stared at his own screen for a couple seconds before he sighed a heavy sigh. "There was a breakout from Gotham jail about a week ago."   
  
"What does this have to do with me?"   
  
"Dick," Tim said quietly as he shuffled into view behind Bruce, "Tony Zucco was the escapee."   
  
The world froze over. "What?" Dick asked quietly. "Tim, that's not fun-"   
  
"It's true, Dick," Bruce said sternly. "I didn't tell you because I had hoped to find him sooner."   
  
Dick felt his hands begin to shake. "I had  _ every _ right to know anyway!" He yelled. "And now he could be the one stalking me?!"   
  
"Dick-"   
  
"Piss off, Bruce," Dick snarled before closing their video chat. Dick sat in his sofa, chest heaving and vision swirling red, for a few seconds—just watching his laptop announce that Bruce was calling back.    
  
There was a knock on the door.    
  
Dick slammed his laptop closed and grabbed his gun, not even hesitating to do so because he was so angry and pissed off, and if Zucco was on the other side of the door he would shoot that bastard in the forehead without question.    
  
Thankfully he pocketed his gun before he answered the door, because he didn't know how to feel when it was just the pizza he ordered before his pleasant chat with Bruce about the man who ruined his life.    
  
The pizza boy handed him his pepperoni pizza—still warm—and Dick, almost in a trance, handed him the money. He probably tipped too much. The boy was about to leave before he gasped.   
  
"Oh! I almost forgot," the boy said, "some guy told me to tell you your ride's here."   
  
Dick blinked and the boy was going back down the stairs and towards his own car. Dick followed and saw a black car with extreme tinted windows parked by the curb of his complex, engine on. There was a man leaning on the hood, and when he noticed Dick watching, he waved.   
  
_ Await further instructions _ .   
  
Dick took a deep breath and set his pizza down on the floor before closing his door. Thankfully, he hadn't bothered to kick off his shoes when he got back home.    
  
"Dick Grayson," the man said when Dick approached. He released a breath Dick didn't know he was holding when the man turned out to not be Zucco. He was too muscled and his voice was too deep.   
  
"What do you want?" Dick demanded.    
  
The man simply opened the back door and waved his hand vaguely. Inside, Dick could see another man that was way too muscled for his own good. There was another man in the driver's seat, though he seemed to be more normally structured.   
  
The man made an inpatient growl and Dick got the message. He sighed and climbed into the back seat. He was about to buckle himself in and demand to know what was happening when he was shoved further into the car, into the middle seat. Mr beefy sat down by the window and Dick found himself trapped between two walls of meat.   
  
Then, suddenly, his arm was grabbed around his biceps roughly and something sharp was jabbed into his neck.   
  
"What the f-" Dick tried to say when he realized he was stabbed by a freaking syringe, but before he could even finish his swear, the world got tipsy turvy. His tongue felt big and his muscles suddenly didn't work. He felt himself unwillingly relaxing as the syringe was pulled out from his neck.    
  
The last thing he was aware of was a black cloth bag being forced over his head.   
  


* * *

  
He woke up to the sound of bees, whether they were around him or in his ears was impossible to determine in his groggy, drugged state. Thankfully, his head was clear, it was only his body that was sluggish and still trying to process.    
  
He flexed his arms as the bees seemed to clear out (yup, just in his ears) and wasn't that surprised to discover he couldn't move them. His legs were stuck too and it only took a moment more to realize that he was taped to a wooden chair. He hesitantly opened his eyes and was met with black.   
  
The bag was still over his head.    
  
"Do you know," came a voice. It was chillingly familiar, "what it's like to constantly be looking over your shoulder?"   
  
"Zucco," Dick growled and tugged on the tape restraining him. Just hearing his voice made his blood boil.    
  
"You figured it out quickly," Zucco said. Dick could hear a smug grin in his voice. There were chuckles from other voices, giving Dick the idea that there were more people standing in front of him than just his parents murderer.    
  
"Fuck you."   
  
More chuckles. Suddenly, a fist to his stomach. He coughed and leaned forward in his bonds, but not being able to go far thanks to the tape wrapping around his chest. A rough hand grabbed the back of Dick's neck and pulled him forward. Someone's hot breath was right in his ear.   
  
"I'll let that slide this once," Zucco said, and Dick shivered at the thought of him being so close. "I could kill you now, you're at my mercy. You ruined my business, sent me to jail, I have every right to blow your brains out."   
  
Dick jerked his body away from Zucco and hated how the hand on his neck only tightened its grip, Dick was stuck. "You murdered my parents."    
  
Zucco hummed and suddenly let go of Dick. Dick took multiple deep breaths to try and get himself in some form of control. "Enough of the pleasantries, you're here because I have something I need you to do, and you'll do it unless you want a certain photo to make its way to the police."   
  
"You murdered that man to blackmail me. You won't get away with it."   
  
"Yeah, but so far I am. Are you ready to hear what I need you to do or should I just give the photo over now?"   
  
Dick thought for a moment, finding no way out besides the two options offered to him. If he refused, Zucco may as well just kill him, but if he accepted he'd have more contact with Zucco, making more windows for Dick to take him out.   
  
"Fine. What?"   
  
Zucco grabbed his shoulder and he could hardly repress his disgusted flinch. "The circus still owes me money," Zucco said almost in a whisper. Dick felt a chill run down his spine, "I need you to collect. They'll be in Central City next week."   
  
"This is what's it's about?" Dick growled. "Money?"   
  
He heard the ruffling of clothes, maybe Zucco shrugged. "Isn't it always? Your task is to just get my money. It's been a few years, interest had piled up, I'd say the circus owes me everything they have."   
  
"You want me to steal from my family."   
  
"Steal? Ask? I don't care. I just want my money, Grayson."   
  
Dick wanted to scream. Zucco had no right so say his surname; his parent's name.    
  
Instead, Dick took a deep breath. "I'm not stealing from Haley's Circus."   
  
There was a sad sigh, or a mock sad one as if Zucco hadn't actually expected Dick to agree. Suddenly, Dick was punched once again in the stomach, and Dick cried out when it didn't stop at one. A heavy fist slammed across Dick's jaw, making his world spin despite the bag still over his head. The assault continued with no end in sight, and for a minute, Dick was afraid he would die like that. He couldn't get out of the bonds, his limbs we're still too lethargic and he had no weapons on him, even the gun he put in his pocket was now noticeably missing.   
  
Right when Dick felt a tooth break from another blunt hit to his jaw, something bounced on the hard ground below him, hissed, and exploded.    
  
A smoke bomb.   
  
Through the confused yelling from Zucco and his men, Dick heard the slight whistle of a batarang slice through the air. It made impact on the tape holding Dick's left arm to the chair.   
  
Suddenly, Dick was free.   
  
Without wasting a moment, Dick ripped his arm free and used the sharp weapon to saw through the rest of his bonds as the shouts if panic turned into the explosions of gunpowder. He heard the flap of a cape just as he ripped off the hood from his face.    
  
Smoke was receding around him, so he could just barely see his surroundings. It was some kind of abandoned factory, probably located somewhere at the edge of Gotham (or in the middle, you'd never know). Rusted tanks and conveyor belts littered the floor and the only light source came from the moon shining through the sky lights. Running about twenty feet up we're a series of ramps and walkways.    
  
It was chaos, men were running and shooting wildly as red and green swung from the rafters, taking then out one by one, red and Black moved in the spots were visibility was low, and pitch black fought from the shadows like a demon.    
  
Great. So even Damian knew about Zucco before Dick did.    
  
Also, Zucco was nowhere to be found. Great. Just great.   
  
One of Zucco's grunts noticed Dick was free and broke away from his comrades. Normally, in any situation that involved Dick being a hostage, he would back off and just try to run away, but then he saw a man begin to climb up the ladders leading up to the walkway system. He recognized the fine tailored suit and the pepper grey hair. Nothing about Zucco had changed at all.   
  
Not bothering to drag out a fight because he was a poor, helpless hostage, he grabbed the man running towards him and kick the man where it counted. The man made a pathetic cry as he stumbled and Dick gave him no time to recover before he kicked the man's temple, knocking him out cold.    
  
"What the hell, Dick!" Red Robin suddenly said as he ran closer to Dick. Dick hadn't even noticed him running over to save him.   
  
Dick gave him a glare that he knew he'd regret later—it wasn't anyone's fault other than Bruce, once again—but he spun tail and ran full speed at the ladder he saw Zucco escape up. Red Robin let out a squawk and tried to run after Dick before he was distracted by a more grunts.   
  
Dick ignored how his limbs still felt a bit weak as he climbed up towards Zucco. He could see him crouching like the coward he was up on the walkway. He was working on aiming a pistol down at any shape with color. Dick pushed himself up on the walkway with the sheer force of anger and began to sprint down towards the man that ruined everything. Zucco looked up a bit too late and Dick was upon him like a dark entity. Dick kicked Zucco in his side and then elbowed his face. He heard a satisfying  _ snap _ as blood exploded down the murderers nose. Zucco yelled out in pain and desperately tried to back away from Dick.   
  
He lifted his hand that was holding the gun and he fired before Dick would do anything. Dick felt fire rip through his bicep. He cursed himself when he felt red heat trail down his arm. Zucco scrambled to his feet, blood steadily dripping down his chin onto his dress shirt and splashing on the metal walkway below them. For a millisecond they locked eyes; two men hell bent on making the last blow. Then, Zucco charged. The collar of Dick's shirt was grabbed and Dick found himself being shoved back against the rusting railing behind him. The horizontal bar dug into the small of his back, making him almost tip over and fall a possible fatal distance below him, but he was able to ignore the screaming agony in his arm and steady himself by grabbing on to Zucco.    
  
He put all of his strength in his legs and  _ pushed _ .   
  
Zucco and Dick stumbled the other direction and Zucco's back slammed into the railing behind him. The rusted bars creaked dangerously and then broke off whatever remains of screws that used to hold them up.   
  
Zucco called out in panic as he lost whatever support from the now clattering railing that was now two stories down. The only thing holding him up was Dick, who was having a hard enough time holding up his arms. His left arm was shaking violently from the gunshot wound and his right arm still had effects of whatever drug he had been injected with, adrenaline could only get so far.   
  
"Richard!" Came Batman's voice. He was somewhere below Dick, nowhere near enough to stop Dick from just… letting go.   
  
He could do it. He could kill. He'd done it before. He strangled the Joker and let Tarantula shoot Blockbuster, and he realized that as Zucco desperately grabbed at Dick's forearms, it would be so easy to do.   
  
Footsteps pounded on the walkway to his left and he flicked his eyes to see a familiar glare worn on a boy with red and green. Robin.    
  
Robin stopped just a few feet away from Dick and Zucco.   
  
"Grayson," he said quietly, surprisingly so. Dick was kind of expecting a growl or a hiss or something similar to that, but Robin sounded just a little gentle, like he was talking to a scared, wild animal. Damian was always good with animals. "Let him go, it's over now."   
  
Dick flicked his eyes to the ground level and saw each of the goons hog tied on the ground with zip ties. Red Robin was grabbing his grapple from his belt when Batman stopped him and pointed at Dick, saying something Dick couldn't hear. Great, they're planning how to catch Zucco if… if he decides to let him drop. Let him die the same way as them, poetic justice.   
  
He tightened his grip on Zucco's shirt and Zucco whimpered pathetically, scratching at Dick's wrists. "Listen to the kid, Grayson-" Zucco said, desperation dripped from each word, making Dick sick to his stomach, "you won. Just- just let me go-"   
  
Dick growled. "It's never over," he whispered, "it's never over, you keep coming back. You- you killed them. You didn't let them go- you didn't give then the  _ option _ .    
  
Something in Dick's eyes must have terrified Zucco because he began to release ugly sobs. This pathetic piece of filth killed his mom and dad. He almost let go at that moment, but Robin spoke up.   
  
"This isn't you, Grayson," Robin said, walking slowly towards Dick with his hands slightly raised, "you don't kill."   
  
"You don't understand!" Dick practically screamed. Everything was so fuzzy and he knew he wasn't thinking straight. Drugs, adrenaline, and gunshot wounds didn't mix very well but at the moment he didn't care.   
  
He didn't care that Robin flinched.    
  
"You're right," Robin continued, "I- I don't understand. I live with my biological father… my mother is still alive, but I have an older brother who told me we can't let revenge cloud our minds. He told me we'd lose ourselves. Become the enemy. Don't become Zucco, Dick."   
  
Warm escaped Dick's eyes and trailed down Dick's cheeks. Leave it to Damian to use his own words against him. He gave one last glance at Zucco before he shoved him away from him... and onto the hard metal of the walkway. Multiple breaths from different people were released in relief, Dick could see how Batman's shoulders relaxed a bit, how Red Robin slumped a bit, but his legs were trembling and his arm pulsed in waves of unbearable agony. He stumbled backwards and landed on his butt on the walkway. Robin gave him a look before he ran over to Zucco to restrain him.    
  
He heard the sound of a grapple and suddenly Red Robin was besides him, lifting up the sleeve of his t-shirt. Red Robin hissed at whatever he saw, but at the moment, all Dick could feel was a painful numb.   
  
"Does… does it ever stop hurting?" Dick asked, not towards anyone in particular.   
  
Red Robin looked up from the wound and bit his lip for a second before he answered.   
  
"I don't think it's supposed to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic? Dumb? Jin why did you write this crap? Idk. If you liked this chapter Coolio and if you hated it I'll join you on that party bus. Thanks for reading guys!
> 
> Next up: Locked Up and Left Behind: Nightwing
> 
> Hey guys! I love your super kind comments but remember to suggest prompts for future chapters! Once I run out, this series stops! 
> 
> Also... I feel like adult Dick has had enough fun............ Maybe teen Dick needs a turn...................... *Wink wink*


	7. Locked Up and Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Multiple near death experiences bring the bat family closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope it's white outside where ever you guys are... cuz for the first time ever it's not over here........
> 
> Anyway, I got a lap top (FINALLY). I've been writing on my phone for the _longest_ time, but now that I got a lap top, I should be able to write more. It's so much easier to now. Anyway, merry Christmas, happy new year, so on, so forth, yada yada yada.
> 
> ;)

Ever since Jason was brought into the Wayne family, kidnappings came to be a rare occurrence. Dick's theory was that most criminals realized how stupid it was to go after Bruce Wayne, especially now that he was more public with funding Batman and the Justice League. Dick had been kidnapped hundreds of times and not a single perp got a single coin out of it. Just a lot of bruises from Batman and a  _ long _ sentence to prison.    
  
Jason... when he was alive… got kidnapped once or twice, but he was usually rescued fairly quickly since the only people risking getting Batman and the League on their tail were idiots. As he grew up and Bruce hadn't met a single demand of any kidnapper and still got Jason back safe and sound, and as time went by kidnappers just kind of… gave up.   
  
And then Bruce adopted Tim, and no one remembered that kidnapping was a thing until Bruce got the phone call.   
  
Dick happened to be there. He was over visiting the manor mostly because Alfred mentioned how lonely the manor had been and how Tim spent most of his days locked up in his room. Another reason for being there was that Bruce was still hurting and brooding over the grave, as if it was his fault Ra's Al Ghul and Joker decided to be evil. Dick was still aching too, he would be lying if he said he didn't hope to see a shit-eating grin on a familiar boy's face when he walked in.   
  
He was sitting in Bruce's study, just lounging on one of the chairs set off to the side that were set there just in case Bruce actually wanted to talk to people in his office. Bruce usually didn't, but that never stopped Dick from barging in, plopping himself down on a chair, and pulling out his phone to play whatever weird app he found a couple minutes before. This time it was a color by number game.   
  
He was working on the number 25 when the phone on Bruce's desk began to ring. Bruce looked up from whatever papers he had been going through and lifted an eyebrow at the phone. It was almost three in the afternoon and Bruce had no scheduled talks or meetings with anyone, so the caller could be just some random phone solicitor that got lucky enough to call Bruce Wayne. After a few more rings, Bruce sighed and lifted the phone to his ear.   
  
"Bruce Wayne speaking," he said in a perfect businessman tone.   
  
Dick rolled his eyes and went back to his game, but his attention was quickly back on Bruce when he heard a sharp growl. "What it the meaning of this?!"   
  
A deep pit suddenly formed in Dick's stomach as his mind went through all the scenarios that could get this reaction out of Bruce.    
  
"Don't touch a hair on his head," Bruce practically yelled into the phone and Dick felt like he needed to puke. Bruce looked genuinely worried. "You hear me?!"   
  
It hit him like a truck when Dick realized school ended more than a hour ago.   
  
Tim should have been home.   
  
"I want to talk to him."   
  
Dick remembered all the times Bruce said that, but it was Dick he wanted to talk to. There were a number of different ways the criminals would react to that. Some would hand Dick the phone, some would shove the phone against his ear, some would refuse, and there were a rare, heartless few that-   
  
The sound of a agonized filled scream sounded over the phones speakers, reaching Dick's ears. He stood up from the couch and stood there helplessly as Bruce yelled into the phone.    
  
A rare, heartless few that proved life by making it known they have no problem taking it.    
  
Dick could hear sobbing over the low, incoherent voice of the kidnapper from the phone. It made Dick want to join in on crying.   
  
Suddenly, all noise cut off with a beep and Bruce was left yelling at a ended call to  _ not _ hang up!    
  
"Bruce?" Dick asked. Dick never had that much experience with being on this end of kidnappings. Sure, it had happened a couple times with Jason but Dick never got used to it.    
  
If the way Bruce was getting up from his desk and slamming the phone down on sharp and jerky movements was anything to go by, Bruce had never gotten used to it too.   
  
"Go to the school. Trace his steps," Bruce ordered.    
  
"What about you?" Dick asked, already backing up towards the study door.   
  
"I'm calling Commissioner Gordon, then Batman will join you."   
  


* * *

Batman never joined. The reason being so was that Bruce Wayne got another call from the kidnappers to negotiate the life of a 14 year old boy while with Gordon. He was practically being forced to stay at home with a couple cops to watch over him. Thankfully, Gordon didn't exactly know Dick was back in town.    
  
So he was forced to find out out on his own what happened. He first went to the school and checked the cameras. Tim made it out in one piece, he was busy talking to some friends and their conversation lasted until he got to the front gates of the school. There were no more cameras from there, so he checked the traffic cameras. There weren't many, just mostly at the intersections to check for people running red lights, but was able to follow Tim a couple blocks. He was probably going to the public bus stop since Alfred was out of town—he insisted on just taking the bus and Bruce and Dick didn't fight him on it.    
  
Dick checked the cameras at the bus stop and waited… Tim never showed up.   
  
So, in-between the last traffic intersection and the bus stop, Tim was taken. That's a whole block of street.    
  
As Dick Grayson, dressed in inconspicuous attire, he walked up and down the street with a picture of Tim. He couldn't find any cameras so he had to resort to asking side street shops, homeless people, and street performers if they've seen "my little brother".    
  
_ Hmm, he looks familiar… oh yeah, he was that kid who waved at me earlier. I think he was just walking down the street. _   
  
_ He gave me a twenty after my song. Nice kid. But he looked a little nervous. He turned the way he came from and walked quickly away. I hope he's okay. _ __   
__   
_ Yeah the brat ran into me like a bat out of hell. Knocked my groceries everywhere.  _ __   
__   
_ Ah, he ran into the alley. Was there anyone following him? Ah… I think a car turned into the alley a bit after him. Make and model? What are you a cop? _ __   
__   
_ Spare some change? Oh. That boy... Yeah… I saw him… look, I can't just give information for free… oh thank you kind sir. Right, so he ran in here looking all crazy. I hid behind the dumpster because… crazy people are bad news for people like me. It's a good thing I did because this black van pulled into the alley and drove up next to him. Some guys came out and grabbed him, I think they drugged him I don't know, and drove off. Yeah, I did nothing! Its none of my business.  _ __   
  
The homeless person shuffled away to heaven knew where and Dick was left standing in the middle of stinking alleyway, limply holding a picture of Tim. Black van. Classic but effective. It's also easy to find on a traffic cam.   
  


* * *

Dick checked every camera he could and after a few agonizing hours, he finally found the van just barely skimming the corner of the feed of a camera on the inside of a gas station. The van purposely avoided every camera that watched the streets, but Dick thankfully lucked out. The van was black and there was a blurry image of a man at the steering wheel. The more he looked, he noticed the black of the van was actually a sloppy paint work. Probably spray paint. He zoomed in and used every program he had access to to clear up the image. Under the black paint was a logo… if he could just get it clear enough to read…   
  
Finally, the logo became clear enough for him to read. Without wasting a second, Dick slipped into his suit and swung out into the now darkening city.   
  


* * *

It was the logo of an old grocery shop down in the slums. It remained open mostly because it was the only cheap place to get okay food for the people that lived in the area. The grocery shop used to do house orders, which is the reason they would have cars with logos on them.    
  
It only took Nightwing thirty minutes to arrive at the store. It was closed and the lights on the inside were off. Didn't matter, Nightwing just went there really to see if he could find a list of the employees, but when he looked to the side of the building he saw a familiar van.   
  
All of a sudden, things were so much more urgent because Tim was  _ in _ there.   
  
He snuck over to the windows and looked inside. The aisles were short and close together, most were pretty bare, waiting for someone to restock. Other than that, the building was eerily empty.    
  
He silently picked the lock on the doors and went inside like a shadow. It was silent, not even a humming of the AC could be heard. He swallowed and continued deeper into the building. He turned into a door that said "employees only" and slipped in.    
  
The other side of the door was split into three areas. One lined the back of the fridges where chilled items like milk and eggs could be stocked easily. There were boxes stacked on top of boxes in that section, it was also about the temperature of a fridge, but other than that, it was empty. The second section was filled with large metal structures for normal storage. Glass jars and chip bags stuffed into boxes sat on the shelves. Nightwing took his time looking around each corner of the section, there were too many places for someone to hide it seemed, but after extensive search, Nightwing's search came out to be fruitless.    
  
The last section was behind a large metal door with big red letters that said "KEEP CLOSED". Nightwing had to put his whole body weight into sliding the door open, and when he did he was met with below zero temperatures.    
  
The freezer.    
  
He stopped at the entrance and looked into the darkness of the freezer with nothing but his night vision. There were metal shelves and pallets littering the floor. Too many places to hide, but not a very comfortable one. He could see his breath puff up in front of his face and the cold was already biting through his suit. At first glance, the freezer looked empty. He sighed, watching his breath rise, already considering leaving and looking for other places the kidnappers could have hid.   
  
However, for the first time since he got to the grocery shop, he heard something.   
  
It was muffled and scared sounding. Whimpers and sniffles.    
  
Tim.   
  
Nightwing went deeper into the freezer, ignoring how he could already feel goosebumps forming on his arms. He turned around a shelf and came to a stop when he saw Tim.   
  
Or at least, Tim was the first thing he saw. He was tied to a metal chair with his hands probably duct taped behind him. His ankles were restrained in a similar way to the legs of the chair. He had a length of tape stuck over his mouth and even more wrapped around his head to blindfold him. A dark stain covered his shirt near to his shoulder, probably blood from whatever they've done to him when Bruce asked to talk to Tim. He was shivering, stripped down to just his undershirt and boxers. Snot ran out of his nostrils and trailed over the tape gagging him.   
  
Unfortunately though, Tim wasn't alone.    
  
There was a man standing casually behind Tim, one arm wrapped around Tim's shoulders and a hand pressed a gun to Tim's temple like it was the easiest thing in the world. He had a ski mask on.   
  
"Well," the man said and pressed the gun harder into Tim's temple, making a horrid mark, "I was expecting Batman."   
  
Expecting?   
  
Stars exploded at the back of his head.   
  
Nightwing felt the world tilt and his body go down with it. He stumbled and landed on the ground, just barely able to catch himself on his hands and knees. He immediately pushed himself to his feet to face whoever had snuck up on him while he was busy being terrified of how terrible people could be, but the world exploded into blinding light.   
  
Or someone just turned on the lights and his night vision freaked out.   
  
Nightwing called out and squeezed his eyes shut. His skull ached from whatever he had been hit with and the cold was numbing his hands. He could only imagine how cold Tim was.   
  
He heard something swing, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge some kind of bar as it swung at his head. It cut the skin above his eyebrow and knocked him off his feet. He landed roughly on the ground and groaned when hands latched onto him and began to take his escrima sticks.    
  
He forced his stinging eyes open, thankful that his mask had automatically turned off the night vision, but the sight that he saw was the man grinning from his eyes and holding the gun store an uncomfortable angle under Tim's jaw.   
  
"Stand down or I blow the kids brains out."   
  
Tim tried to shove the man off to the best of his abilities, but the man held him too tight. Dick had no doubt the man would shoot Tim. By the looks of it, he already stabbed him. Nightwing forced him to relax into the ground. He forced himself to allow gloved hands to lift him up and shove him against one of the shelves of the freezer.    
  
Forced himself to remain still as his suit was put in the process of being stripped from his body.    
  
"Where's Batman?" The man asked. Nightwing glared and ignored how his shoulders were shaking. He clenched his jaw to stop the chattering before it started. The man sighed at Nightwing's silence and pressed the gun harder into Tim's jaw. Tim made a strangled whimpering sound at the back of his throat. "Where's the Bat, Nightwing?"   
  
Nightwing loosened his jaw and shot a quick glare at the men, there were multiple, who had finally stripped home down to his underwear. All he had was his mask which he hoped beyond hope they would leave alone. Before he knew it, his hands were zip tied in front of him with multiple and heavy duty ties. "Not coming," Nighting growled out, "he couldn't make it. Sent me."   
  
The ties dug into his skin as the men shoved him forward and forced his arms upward, where chains were hanging. His arms were wrapped up in the chains and a lock and key held them tight against his bare arms. The metal felt colder than ice and the air on his bare skin felt like torture. His jaw was shaking even as he tried to keep it still.   
  
The men backed off and the man who held the gun against Tim finally lowered it. Nightwing couldn't help the shuddering breath of relief that came out of him. The man cut the tape holding Tim's ankles to the chair and hefted Tim up by the back of his shirt. Tim shook his shoulders but he didn't look strong enough to shake off a fly, let alone the grasp of a psycho.   
  
"I suppose we'll have have to hope you're telling the truth, or else the kid gets it."   
  
"D- don't do this," Nighting tried, as last resort, "there's oth-other w-w-ays-"   
  
His whole body was shaking and his fingers were already numb. The man laughed and began to drag Tim out of the freezer. No one said anything more as one of the other men slapped a piece of tape over Nightwing's mouth and followed the leader out. The lights were shut off and the door of the freezer was rolled shut. There was the sound of chains on the other side of the door and Nightwing realized that they were locking the door shut. Even if he got out of his restraints, he would still be stuck.    
  
He shivered in the dark, desperately looking for ways to escape and save Tim, but as his nose began to run, he already knew there were no options other to wait. He couldn't move from his spot and his limbs were too numb to try and escape the locked chains. All he could do was wait and try to keep his body temperature up for as long as he could.   
  
He lasted an hour and a half. He stopped shivering and blood trailed down his arms from the ties. His legs were so week he could hardly stand up any longer, leaving him to dangle from the chains, which would have hurt if his whole body wasn't so numb.   
  
His eyes were too heavy to keep open, and he realized that with Bruce being public about his funding both forced the idiots to stop trying, and the smart ones to get smarter.   
  


* * *

Tim didn't know what they did to Nightwing. He didn't know anything of what was happening, he was too hot and too much in pain. Even in the freezer he felt hot, and now that he was out, the warm Gotham air hit him like opening an oven. The shivers died down once they threw him into a trunk of a car, but the numbness remained.    
  
He figured that was because of the blood loss. Or the constant doses of drugs they gave him. Maybe a bit of both.   
  
He couldn't do a thing with his hands tied so tight behind his back, even if he were Robin he wouldn't be able to escape from this. The men who took him were too smart.    
  
They took down Nightwing after all.    
  
Tim wondered what Bruce was doing. Batman wouldn't just be too busy to save him. Something was holding him back, keeping him from rescuing Tim and helping Nightwing.    
  
God, Tim hoped they didn't leave Nightwing in the freezer. It really sounded like they did.   
  
He took deep breaths through the snot clogging his nose and tried to shift in the small trunk he was stuffed in. It was a different car than the one they took him in. Probably less conspicuous. It was an older car, judging by the sharp corners of the trunk and how it was a  _ trunk _ . Most cars had the back of the car open to the back seats, not closed off in it's own hellish compartment.    
  
Maybe he could kick out the tail light. Find a way to wave at passing cars. Get someone to call for help, because this wasn't about only him anymore. Dick was in trouble too, and Bruce probably didn't even know.

He tried to shift in the small space he was crammed into, but his stomach revolted as the newest dose of drugs he was dosed with began to kick in. His body felt like a broken puppet and before he knew it, staring off into the darkness behind the tape became so much more interesting then trying to escape.   
  


* * *

  
The parking garage was empty except for Bruce Wayne. Dick hadn't been answering any attempts of communication, and the cops were sticking too close to Bruce, so he was forced to go through with the kidnappers demands.    
  
Alone. Suitcase of 4 mil. Cash.    
  
_ If I see a single person, let alone a cop, that's not you: you get the kid back in plastic sandwich baggies.  _   
  
After a tense hour of waiting, a car finally arrived into the parking garage. An old Kia colored an off white color. It came to a stop and immediately four men climbed out of the doors. All wore ski masks and made a point of holding their pistols in front of them. There was one more left sitting in the driver's spot, probably to drive off if anything went wrong.   
  
"Where's Tim," Bruce demanded.   
  
"You have the money?" The one who got out of the passenger seat asked casually. He stood a bit in front of the others and looked a bit smarter than the rest. Bruce recognized his voice from the phone calls. He must be the leader.   
  
"Yes, now let me see Tim."   
  
The leader looked Bruce up and down and then rested on the suitcase. "Show me it's all there, then you'll see the kid."   
  
Bruce never felt more angry as he was forced to comply. He bent down and unzipped the case before laying it down on the pavement. He picked up a wad of cash, each around three thousand, and showed it so it was easy to see. One of the men walked forward at the whispered request of the leader and looked in the bag himself. Bruce hated how close the man was, someone who would willingly hurt a kid for money, let alone  _ Tim _ , are lower than scum.   
  
"Looks to be all there, boss," the grunt said before walking away back to his group.   
  
The leader took a couple seconds to just stare before he nodded at the driver still in the car. The driver nodded back and popped open the trunk of the car. The bastards shoved Tim in the trunk.   
  
One of the grunts walked over to the trunk and opened it the rest of the way before he pulled a bound, blindfolded, and gagged Tim with a rough hand clutching bare arms hard enough to leave bruises. Tim was shoved forward and he stumbled, the man who grabbed him had to both adjust and tighten his grip to keep him standing. Bruce could see from where he was that Tim would definitely need a hospital. Blood dried on his white shirt by his left shoulder around some edges, but he could still see how the light glistened off the crimson red in the middle of the stain. Tim’s still bleeding and he had been for awhile. He had dried mucus and dirt all over his face and his skin was dangerously flushed.    


He also looked extremely confused, even with the blindfold and gag.

“Tim, I’m here,” Bruce called out. Tim looked up, a bit more aware even though the man who grabbed him had to hold all of his body weight as if he were a corpse.

Tim made a muffled sound and was handed over to the leader.

Bruce forced himself to look away from his youngest over to the leader and to remain civil. He didn't want to anger the men who held his kid’s life in their hands. “How do we do this?”

“My man will walk over with the kid, grab the suitcase, and we leave,” the leader replied. “It’s as simple as that.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Okay.”

The leader shoved Tim over to the same man who grabbed him from the trunk. The man gripped Tim, since Tim looked like he could hardly think clearly let alone stand or walk on his own.  _ Maybe they drugged him,  _ Bruce realized with a flash of anger.  _ Blood loss and drugs.  _

Bruce forced himself to remain still, standing next to the open case of cash that the kidnappers deemed the amount of Tim’s life. He would have payed more. He would have dressed up in a monkey suit and did the hula if it meant all of his family were safe, especially Tim who was still aching from his own father’s demise. Especially Dick who was his rock and the reason he was still sane. Especially… especially Jason.

Finally, after what must have been years but was only a couple moments, Tim was within arms reach. Bruce didn’t bother to watch the kidnapper zip up the case and roll it away because he was too busy grabbing at Tim and gently lowering him to the ground. Tim’s head rolled limply as Bruce shifted him. He heard the sound of an engine and screeching tires and silence befell over Bruce and Tim.

He didn't waste a second longer to help Tim. He pulled out his phone with one hand and dialed Gordon, and with the other he gently ripped off the tape covering Tim’s mouth. 

“Bruce…” Tim whispered sloppily. His speech was slurred but at least he knew Bruce was there.

“It’s okay, Tim,” Bruce said. He put the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could get a better grasp on the blindfold. He was in the middle of unwinding it when Gordon finally answered. The parking garage had terrible reception. 

“ _Bruce, what happened?_ _Is Tim okay?_ ” 

“He needs an ambulance. He’s possibly drugged and lost a lot of blood,” Bruce said. He finally got all the tape off and winced at the dazed look in Tim’s eyes. He shifted Tim over and worked on his bloodied wrists where his tape restrains had rubbed the skin raw and sawed through the layers. 

“Brss… Dick…” Tim said slowly like he was trying very hard just to say the names. 

“Dick’s not here,” Bruce said with a bit more growl than what he had meant to put in there. Nightwing was supposed to  _ find  _ Tim, but he now wasn't bothering to answer his phone or communicator. It wasn't like Dick to ignore Bruce when something so serious, so vital to his sibling’s survival, was happening. 

“No… no… t-trubl…”

“ _ Bruce, are the kidnappers gone? Did you see their faces or get-” _

“Just get an ambulance,” Bruce said. “Get it over here, quick.”

Then he hung up because he knew that soon he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions. Tim was so small in his arms and untying his wrists opened up what wounds were lucky to scab. Dick was unresponsive, and he had just let criminals win.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Bruce said as he shifted Tim once again, this time to a more comfortable position for the both of them so he could wipe off the gross from his face with his tie. Tim squirmed and squeezed his eyes shut, his hands shot up to try and fight off Bruce. “Tim, it’s me, just let me clean your face.”

Tim shook his head. “Dick… he- he’s…”

“Tim.”

“No. no no no… t-trouble… f-” Tim made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. Only Tim would be this frustrated with himself while drugged. He opened his eyes and surprised Bruce by looking straight into Bruce’s eyes. He started again, speaking slowly and as clear as he could. “Dick… Nightwing… he’s- t-trouble.”

“Dick’s in trouble?”

“Yeah… yeah…”

Bruce didn’t even consider that the reason Dick wasn’t answering was because of something other than ignoring Bruce. He cursed himself for that. He was so busy worrying over Tim he didn’t even think for a moment that something had held Dick up.

Tim’s eyes were blinking slowly, like consciousness was becoming a losing battle.

“Where is he, Tim,” He said as sirens began to be heard in the distance. Hopefully it was an ambulance. “Where is Dick?”

He gently shook Tim when Tim’s eyes were more closed than open. Tim blinked frantically and shook his head. “F…” he said, trying out the word, as if it were the first time he had ever said it. “Freezer… locked… I- I think.”

And then the ambulance and multiple police cars tore into the garage. In the matter of minutes, Tim was torn from his hands and loaded into a stretcher. Bruce watched as they strapped Tim in and placed an oxygen mask on his face. Paramedics rushed to get everything that they could taken care of. They rushed him into the ambulance and one of the paramedics kept the doors open, welcoming Bruce to ride along. Bruce caught sight of Tim glaring at him behind the mask on his face, daring him to join him on the ambulance.

“No…” Bruce said, backing away, “There is something I need to take care of.”

The paramedic looked shocked, but Tim’s condition and his job was more important than convincing someone to crowd the back of an already small compartment up more. Soon Bruce was left with Gordon standing behind him and the other cops.

“Bruce, we need to talk,” Gordon said as he placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce moved forward to brush off the shoulder. “Later,” he said, and before Gordon could reply, he ran off to his car, jumped in, and started the engine. Gordon and the other cops were racing to his car but he ignored him and  _ floored  _ it.

* * *

It took too long to go through Dick’s computers and thought process, and when Batman finally arrived at the grocery store he couldn’t help but feel he had already failed Dick; that in the process of saving Tim, he had lost someone else.

_ Please not someone else, please not Dick too. _

He raced inside the building and practically jumped over counters and kicked down doors to finally arrive at the freezer. His blood ran cold when he saw the freezer humming quietly, constantly keeping the inside colder than the temperature that humans can survive in for long. He cut the chains off from the handle and the pole that kept the door shut tight, and then shoved open the freezer with all the strength he had. He turned on the lights and came to a stop when he saw a figure hanging limply from the chains connected to the ceiling.

His pulse was so weak and his skin was so cold. He was way past the beginning stages of hypothermia. When Batman cut him down and dragged him out of the freezer, he ripped off the mask covering his eyes and hated how they were still open; open but sightless. He was looking at something else, probably hallucinating.

Batman could do nothing but try his best to warm him up in the safest way possible—and after a bit he realized, with no expense of horror, that Dick was hardly even breathing, he ended up having to breathe  _ for _ Dick—but as the minutes passed and nothing had changed, Bruce took over and called Leslie, he told her to go to the Batcave, that Dick was so close to death and he needed to warm up or else…

Or else he wouldn’t last the next thirty minutes...  _ if they were lucky. _

The Batmobile with just outside… but as fast as his car was, he almost didn’t get there in time.

* * *

Tim woke up feeling like he was flying. His whole body felt like cotton candy and his brain was a bit fuzzy, but he was still able to instantly recognize the hospital and remember most of what had happened to put him there. He was also able to recognize Bruce who sat just off his hospital bed. 

“Dick?” He asked quietly.

Bruce looked up from whatever he had been looking at and smiled at Tim. Smiled. Something Bruce was notorious for  _ never  _ doing. Something terrible must have happened. Oh god, did he not find Dick? Did Dick  _ die _ ?!

Bruce must have saw the panic on Tim’s face because he quickly changed his expression to something more monotonous, familiar…  _ Bruce.  _

“Dick is fine,” Bruce said quickly. Tim felt like the world had just fallen off his chest and it left him breathing like he’d never breathed before. “Woke up a bit before you. He has a nasty cold so he wasn’t able to be here for you when you woke up.”

Tim smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Tell him it’s fine. I’m just glad he’s okay.”

Bruce let out a small chuckle. “I’m glad you both are okay.”

God, so was Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I work in retail, and I have to go in and out of a giant freezer all the time. It's so freaking cold in there... anyway, so on the other side of the freezer door is this sign in red letters that say " **YOU'RE NOT LOCKED IN** " and under it says that you can just as easily open the freezer from the inside as you can outside pretty much. Anyway, I was putting some crates away and I could see my breath and my fingers were numb because the racks I put the crates on were made of metal, and I thought about that sign and I just kind of laughed to myself and thought "wouldn't it just _suck_ to actually be locked in? Locked in and... left... behind..." *moment of shocked silence because I was having a hard time coming up with the story for this one*
> 
> Well, anywho, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Next freaking up: Can Only Move The Eyes; Nightwing


	8. Can Only Move The Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing had been in their clutches, knowing only torture and the sound of his own screams. Little did he know, something bigger was at play and it was only going to get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Slight references to Nightwing 93!!! I don't mention anything explicit but if you are triggered by the references to Tarantula raping Dick, then please be safe and don't read! I can promise you the worst this chapter gets is just a bit of non consensual touching to Dick's chest and face and tiny flashes to the scene (with no actual description of what happened, just to the roof top and how he felt), so it is non explicit, I just want to warn you guys just to make sure you all stay safe.
> 
> This chapter, if you can tell by the warning, is a bit dark. I had fun with it and I like to make Dick feel powerless, and that usually includes a massive amount of torture. It's kind of like the first chapter where I kind of leave you guys hanging, so let me know if you would like a continuation. 
> 
> KEEP THE WARNING IN MIND!!!!

He was running; trying to escape. That was all that mattered at the moment, not how he got there or why he was trying to leave. Not how badly his whole body absolutely  _ ached  _ with a bone deep pain that he didn’t quite understand because it didn’t  _ matter. _

All that mattered was his bare feet slapping against the cheap tile below him, the left turn here and the staircase there, the sound of pursuit behind him.

His arms were cold and the inside of his elbow protested with each movement. If he had bothered to look down at his arm while he was running, he would have found multiple puncture wounds from and IV or from different syringes they had forced into him.

“He’s entering level B!” He heard behind him, “catch him!”

He gasped in a mouthful of air and pumped his legs harder because he couldn’t let them catch up. He couldn’t let them take him and bind him back down and do who knew what to his body. He just wanted to stop hurting. He didn’t want knives slicing through his skin or needles being jammed into his muscles. He wanted a hug. He wanted Bruce. He wanted  _ home. _

Tears clouded his vision, he didn’t know he still had some of those left. He thought for sure they had dried up and gone away just like his voice after hours of begging and screaming. 

A figure stepped out in front of him and his stomach rolled at the familiar white of their garments.

Nightwing stopped in his tracks and attempted to back up, but arms wrapped around his middle and all he could do was buck and scream out in panic. The arms holding him tightened and slammed him down to the ground. He groaned at pains the blow flared up on his body but did his best to ignore it as he desperately rolled onto his back and kicked and punched out at the figures standing above him, frantically trying to hold him down. His heart was in his throat and his whole being was screaming  _ fight  _ or  _ flight _ but he couldn’t do that because someone had finally pinned down his legs and another was getting close to doing the same with his arms. He screamed out in panic when one of the hands came to his neck, holding a sickeningly familiar form of a syringe. 

“No no no nononono, stop please, STOP!” he begged but that didn’t stop them from shoving the cold needle into his neck and pressing down. His arms were inevitably held still and he was robbed of all movement besides bucking his hips and shaking his head back and forth, but whatever they had stuck in him was fast working and soon his world became a blur of white and pain.

Then, there was dark.

-o-o-o-o-

Nightwing woke up to cold. He was familiar with it, it was always with him. It was inside the padded room they kept him in, it was on the metal table they strapped him on, it was in liquid of his IV’s when they decided he needed another dose of nutrients to live. He was always cold, but he never found himself getting used to it. It always surprised him when his sore eyes opened behind a tattered mask they had for some reason allowed him to keep. Maybe it was the same reason they sometimes gagged him when he screamed, they couldn’t stand to hear him plead like a human so why would they want to look into the eyes of one when they sliced open flesh and carved out bone and organs and-

_ They frog marched him through the hallways and he did his darndest to fight them. They had his wrists tied in leather cuffs in front of him and his legs had similar restrains around the ankles. The manacles and shackles eached had less than an inch of give between them, not much for any hostage but enough to annoy the ever loving  _ **_hell_ ** _ out of these psychopaths. However, his struggles, while they succeeded in delaying his forced movement, were also weaker than what they should have been. They've had him in their clutches for what must have been at least a week, and in that whole time he'd been expertly restrained and drugged to keep him more “manageable”, they've also refrained from giving him food, resorting to using an IV line after they drugged him to sleep each night. There was literally nothing he could do to stop them from dragging him into a new room that awaited more horrors. _

His limbs jolted and he realized where he was and for a long moment he wanted to cry because out of everything they have done to him, this was the worst. It was the thing that broke him, that changed him from a tight jawed vigilante into a  _ victim.  _

_ The room was shaped like a hexagon, nothing like the harsh rectangles and squares of each and every other torture room they had brought him to. The walls were padded with a soft, white looking fabric and the tile from the hallways and labs was replaced with a shaggy carpet that felt like heaven on his sore feet—they had just finished whipping the soles just an hour ago… or what he thought was an hour ago… time gets harder to keep track of the more it passes. In the middle of the room was a fancy padded chair that looked like it could be used for a dentist chair; could be if the ridiculous amount of restraints were removed then sure. He fought them the best he could, but they eventually forced him into the chair and began to strap him in after removing his previous bindings one at a time. His wrists, elbows, shoulders, waiste, hips, thighs, knees, shins, and ankles were fully restrained with plastic like cuffs that bit into his skin tightly, even through the cotton hospital gown they had forced him into when he first woke up in the hell hole. He tried to bite at the fingers that pulled the finale straps across his neck and forehead, and another was looped under his jaw to keep his mouth shut. He was completely immovable, and helpless when they approached him with a syringe. _

He was restrained in the same way now, in the same chair and in the same room. The only difference now was that his mouth was free. He couldn’t tell if that was good or not. Maybe they wanted him to talk, or maybe they finally decided that they liked listening to him scream. He tugged at the plastic bindings, but there were no give. Already, they were making prints in his skin and cutting off circulation in his fingers and toes. He couldn’t move his head, but he could look around him. He was alone for the moment, but he knew that wouldn't last long. Any moment that door hidden behind padding would slide open and one of his torturers would come waltzing in. Panic set into his very bones, he hated the chair he was strapped into. Hated it so, so much. With every fiber of his being. Before the chair he had hope that Bruce would notice he was missing and he and his little siblings would all come and save him, after the chair he lost all of that, not the slightest sliver of hope towards seeing the sun again or not being restrained in any way. He had forgotten how to move his arms freely until his miraculous escape attempt, and he hated how they didn’t quite feel like his.

He found himself tugging at the straps again, harder. He remembered for a fraction of a moment that Bruce had trained him to remain calm and preserve energy but that didn’t stick along long enough for Nightwing to actually consider calming down. Bruce hadn’t been in the chair. He hadn’t been forced to sit and suffer and-

The door slid open with a hiss and in walked one of the torturers. He recognized this one, which was a rare thing for him because each of these captors looked the same to him, except for this one. She was shorter than Nightwing, skinnier, and just all around  _ smaller, _ but Nightwing knew she was a demon and that she, without a doubt, held his life in her hands. He was at her mercy, and that terrified him.

“I’m sorry,” Nightwing suddenly found himself saying. A thought swirled at the back of his head, telling him that he was pathetic and that he would never apologize or beg towards a monster, he was trained to harden his features, think clearly, and when there was no escape he should relax and wait. Save himself from unnecessary damage… but none of that was working. Every day he was dragged out of his cell and attached to the newest device or torture and help was  _ not  _ coming. “I’m sorry!” he repeated, louder this time when the woman took a step closer to him without a single change in her expression.

“I promise I won’t try to escape again,” Nightwing pleaded. His voice was scratchy and his throat throbbed with every breath. “Please, just get me out of this chair!”

“How did you escape?” The woman said. Nightwing stopped in the middle of his next plead and stared at her with wide eyes hidden behind his mask. They had never… talked to him before, or acknowledge him at all for that matter. 

“What?”

“How did you escape?” She said, surprisingly patient sounding. “You were locked in your cell, and then you were out. How did you do it?”

Nightwing stared at her. How did he escape? He… how did he do it? “I… I don’t know,” he whispered, and he meant it. He didn’t know how it happened, just one second he was writing on the padded floor of his cell, suffering the after effects of some kind of poison they force fed him, and the next he was running down the hall with his whole mind focused on one thing: escape.

The woman sighed. “I had really hoped you would have remembered, because, you see, I know how you did it, but that doesn’t matter. That just means my research is working, but apparently not well enough,” she suddenly pulled out a syringe and Nightwing’s body fought against the restraints automatically because he  _ knew  _ what that was and it terrified him.

“You see,” the woman continued as she stepped even closer to Nightwing; she ignored every  _ please  _ and  _ wait  _ and  _ stop  _ that came out of his mouth, “I’m not a common criminal. I don’t enjoy listening to you scream and beg. I am a scientist, looking to make a better future for us all, unfortunately my work requires you to be put under great amounts of stress and pain.” She stopped next to Nightwing and gently brushed her hand across his forehead, wiping away his loose hair. He flinched at the touch. “When you escaped, I thought the next phase of my experiment could commence, but it seems you were too unfocused to even remember what you did.” She placed the syringe on his lap, teasing him by letting him be so close to his nightmare but not allowing him to do anything about it. Her hands traveled up to his shoulders and his stomach flipped as a scene of a raining rooftop and the smell of blood danced through his memory. He desperately blinked, trying to remain in the present as his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “Do you want to know what my project is? What role you have in it?”

His heart was racing and he could hardly find the state of mind to open his mouth. The scientist smiled and leaned in closer towards him. “You are apart of a revolutionary experiment, one that will allow the common human to become more than that. Yes, I know that you are anything but common, but we both know for a fact you are just extremely trained and good at what you do. Not a single strand of meta inside of you.”

“Meta?” Nightwing asked as he tried to lean away from her trailing fingers that brushed over his chest. It was too similar to  _ her  _ on that  _ rooftop.  _ He could see it in the woman’s eyes that she knew she was making him extremely uncomfortable… uncomfortable was a oddly tame word for it too, but she knew what she was doing. He swallowed. “Wh… what do you mean?”

She laughed slightly under her breath. “I have a classic evil scientist back story. I have revolutionary ideas that are too inhumane to test, so I go off grid and test them myself. It’s not very fair that only certain people have super powers, isn't it?” Her fingers brushed up by his cheek and caressed his jaw. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we all had powers? We wouldn’t need superheroes to save us, we could save ourselves. That’s what I’ve been doing, Nightwing. Everynight I pump into your body my very own homemade meta genes to give you superpowers.”

Nightwing went still even though her hands continued to travel. “I… I don’t understand.”

She laughed through her nose and finally backed away from him. “Approximately two hours ago, you were in your cell and then the next minute you werent. That’s not something any human can do, trained by Batman or not. My experiment is working, you showed signs of meta capabilities with my artificial genes, even though you were not aware of it.” Nightwing wanted to shake his head no, because that was a lie and Bruce already tested him for meta dna and there was none, but he wouldn't shake his head and the plastic restraint dug into his skin. “You bleed into the shadows and emerged into the hallway. Now all we have to do is make you aware of your new abilities so you can activate them at will, then I’ll know all my hard work had finally paid off. Of course, we’ll have to kill you when we’re through, but aren't you excited to be a real superhero?”

The old Nightwing, the brave and sarcastic one that he used to be, took over for just a second and he launched the biggest wad of spit he could make right onto her face. She gasped and brought her sleeve up to her face and wiped at the fluid. Nightwing instantly regretted his action when she brought her arm down roughly and stomped all the way towards him. He felt an apology crawl up to his throat, a sign that the current and afraid Nightwing had made his return, but was unable to get it out when the final strap was forced under his jaw and locked tightly, making his teeth clenched tightly together. 

“I have many other experiments, Nightwing,” the woman growled. Her eyes were like fire, dangerous and unpredictable. Her hand shot down to his lap, making him violently flinch, but she only picked up the syringe… he didn’t know if he should be thankful about that or not because he hated that syringe but he also hated what her hands could potentially do to him instead. “This,” she continued in a low voice, “is one of my best. All I have to do is shove it in your neck here-” her cold fingers brushed the base of his neck where his tendons popped in his struggles “-and the solution will enter your bloodstream. It will attack your spine and your brain stem, paralyze the nerves in your body and make is so you will not be able to feel a single thing.” Nightwing jerked in fear when the needle was suddenly jammed into his neck, and he wanted to cry when her thumb pressed down and allowed his most feared torture to enter his body. “The genius thing about this solution is that it will not affect any of your major organs, they will continue to work as if you were sleeping. They will also leave your eyes alone, leaving that the only thing you can control. You already know all of this. I’m positive the way your hands are going numb is familiar.”

She was right, his grasping hands loosened against his will and his fingertips felt far away. 

“In two minutes you will not be able to feel your whole arms and most of your legs. It will travel throughout the rest of your body in just a minute after that. You will be left here for hours, only being able to watch, and I will record every moment, because this is the thing you fear most. Being helpless.” Tears dripped down from his eyes and he could no longer feel his feet. “My hope is that you are able to get out of this, because if you don't, I will do it again. Over and over and over again until you fight back and prove me right.”

She pulled the needle out of his neck and dropped it onto the floor.

“You’ll have lots of time to think about how to activate your powers. Relax, take your time.”

Then, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door to seal shut behind her, and Nightwing was left terrified behind her, only able to blink and stare desperately as his breathing slowed down and his heart beated in a fraction of a more relaxed pace. He would scream if he could feel anything besides the raging terror of his mind that he was all of a sudden stuck in.

It took two days straight for the shadows to finally bend to his will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So kind of a super power au, which is something I've always wanted to write. I feel kind of bad writing this tho... I don't like to write that dark and it makes me feel a bit icky, but it's still something that happened in canon that I feel like needs to be addressed more often.
> 
> Also, Dick with super powers?! Tell me that isn't exciting.
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE, LETS HOPE 2019 IS THE YEAR WE ALL LOSE OUR ACNE AND GET ADORABLE PARTNERS AND FIND PEOPLE WHO ACCEPT US FOR WHO WE ARE.
> 
> I'm also hoping this is the year we solve global warming but that may be a bit too much hopeful.
> 
> Next up: Held Up By The Neck: "newly-stuck-out-on-his-own" teenage Nightwing


	9. Lifted By the Neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Nighting runs into a not so friendly Hulk impersonater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I TOOK FOREVER. THIS CHAPTER THREW ME INTO A MAJOR WRITING BLOCK AND IT TOOK AWHILE TO BUILD UP THE ENERGY TO PUSH THROUGH IT
> 
> (I told myself I'm not allowed to play anymore Legend Of Zelda: Breath of the Wild until I write this chapter. Surprisingly it worked. Can't wait to continue my game later).
> 
> Sorry in advance if this chapter feels a bit... Crappy. The thing with writer's block and forcing through them is that the writing doesn't end up as good as you want, but I want to get this out for you guys because the next prompts after this one are going to be so much fun.

Nightwing landed hard but silent at the top of a metal structure by the dockside. The moon had rose to its highest point and the cool night air, air that was somehow colder than Gotham, breezed past, ruffling his loose hair and sinking through his suit. Below where he perched were a group of classic baddies doing classic baddie business. He watched silently as one hefted a box into a shipping container and another marked a tally on a clipboard.   
  
He didn't know what were packed into those boxes being loaded, but he did know that the man leading the operation wouldn't be taking charge of innocent boxes of cereal. No, Gave Jones—a leading force in Blüdhaven's gangs that was not someone to cross unprepared—dealt in drugs.    
  
Nightwing had been tracking Gave for the better part of a week, which is just a bit shorter than the time Dick Grayson had been in Blüdhaven. He was Dick— _ Nightwing's _ —first bad guy since he moved out of the manor, well, first  _ actual _ bad guy. In the time he'd been in Blüdhaven, he'd definitely had his fair share of criminals show up during his patrols. Back in Gotham, perps got the idea pretty quickly that they had a small window to actually try to mug someone or rob a bank before Batman and Robin showed up, but in Blüdhaven it was like the purge became a reality. Corruption ran all the way to the mayor's chair and cops did nothing about it. Nightwing ran into a criminal every other street all the way into the morning, and even then crime did not sleep. It bled into the day and continued onto the next night. Crime was like a fire ant nest, you can take a couple soldiers and workers out, but they'll continue to swarm and build up until they're fighting back with a nasty bite.    
  
But Gave wasn't a soldier or worker, more like a general. A man no one messed with, who controlled instead of worked. Not quite a queen ant, but taking him out would throw off a whole fleet.   
  
Therefore: first bad guy of Blüdhaven.   
  
Right now, Gave and about twelve underlings and five hired guns moved boxes too and from crates, taking things out and putting others in. Nightwing figured that whatever were in the crates was bad, and whatever they were putting back—probably as an exchange—was just as bad. If not worse. Bad guys usually sell the bad stuff rather than buy it.    
  
Something suddenly crashed and Nightwing tensed as Gave whipped around from where he was counting goods and began to stalk with a face of murder to a young man who dropped a box that he was attempting to lug into a crate. The man whimpered before he hurriedly began to apologise profusely but Nightwing wasn't paying too much attention to that; what he  _ was _ paying attention to was to the fallen crate with shattered walls, halfway laying on the ground, halfway collapsed into it. Around the cracks pooled a yellow substance that Nighting wished would just go away.    
  
"Of course," Nightwing growled to himself quietly, "of course it's Venom."   
  
It's like every time he and Batman get rid of it, more of it pops out somewhere, stronger and more dangerous. Civilians that use it never learn, at first they take it as an untraceable steroid, and then the addiction gets to them and they turn into raging King Kong's, the only difference is that women they kidnap don't usually end up leaving their meaty fists alive.    
  
It looked like they were sending Venom out of the country, not in. That fact both relieved and worried Nightwing, because at least he knew it wouldn't be Blüdhaven that will be flattened by humans turned Hulk; but third world countries—where, to Nightwing's best judgement, the Venom was most likely going—were harder to infiltrate and clean up. That also meant that somewhere in Blüdhaven was a secret Venom lab that Nightwing hadn't found.    
  
Hopefully, taking out Gave would lead him to that lab.    
  
"How stupid are you! Are you trying to make us lose profit!" Gave was screaming, catching Nightwing's attention.    
  
"Oh shit," Nightwing cursed himself. He was too busy glaring at Venom to notice that Gave had pulled out a gun and was ruthlessly shoving it into the chest of the man who dropped the crate. Other workers averted their eyes and continued their work as the hired guns snickered and watched the cowering man with blood thirsty eyes.    
  
"I'm sorry!" The man sobbed.    
  
"Do you have  _ any idea _ how much this costs?" Gave snarled and Nightwing flexed his muscles when Gave's finger brushed over the trigger of his gun. "This is coming out of your paycheck!"   
  
Nightwing watched as Gave suddenly stopped yelling and a thoughtful look appeared on his face. Nightwing instantly knew what was going to happen.    
  
"Or, we can just eliminate your paycheck all together," Gave said with an evil smirk.    
  
The man got a confused look, and then a look of dawning spread through his features and he attempted to back up in horror.    
  
_ Okay, enough is enough _ , Nightwing thought with a sigh. He had been waiting for the perfect moment to make his move, but letting one casualty—even that of a criminal—slip by wouldn't make Nightwing that much of a bigger person. Ends don't justify means and all that stuff.    
  
Gave readjusted the hold on his gun and Nightwing grabbed an escrima stick from the holsters strapped to his back—heavens above did he love his escrima sticks, definitely a step up from a pole—and launched it through the air. It whizzed and hit directly on Gave's gun hand, snapping the weapon out of his fingers and probably breaking a couple small, fragile bones. Gave screamed in pain as a shot of electricity—god he loved his escrima sticks—ran through his body, disorienting him just enough for Nightwing to remove himself from his perch and begin his attack.    
  
He quickly dodged and hid behind a beam of metal scaffolding when one of the hired guns did the admittingly smart thing and fired in Nightwing's direction, where the stick came hurtling from out of nowhere. Nightwing saw another hired gun leave his spot and start running over, but Nightwing didn't worry too much about that guy, he was heading towards  _ juuuust _ the wrong direction.    
  
Silence fell over the group of criminals as Gave spat and hissed like a wounded alley cat, clutching at his hand and swearing up the wall.    
  
"The  _ fuck _ ?!" Gave screamed finally and the man he had been previously threatening whimpered. "Was that!?!"   
  
"I think it's that Batman wannabe," sad a hired gun that run over to Gave's side, probably to protect him for another flying stick. He was eyeing the offending stick—that was casually sitting on the asphalt like it hadn't just broken a man's hand—with distrust.    
  
Nightwing both bristled and smirked at the recognition in the hired guns voice. Finally he was gaining a rep in Blüdhaven, but it still stung to be compared to Batman. Maybe he should just tell everyone that he used to be Robin. That'd scare em.   
  
Gave growled unintelligently and started to command the hired guns to find "that Batman copycat" and at the workers to work faster. Nightwing squeezed himself into a nook when he saw the gun that had ran over to find him had turned in his direction. At that same moment, Gave grabbed the cowering worker with his good hand and shoved a syringe into the man's arms.    
  
Nightwing's blood froze when Gave hissed, "make yourself useful."   
  
"Crap."   
  
He spun from his hiding spot and ran in the shadows directly to the hired gun. The hired gun only got to see Nightwing for a brief second before Nightwing has roadhouse kicking him over the temple. The man let out a strangled sound of surprise and then fell to the ground, knocked unconscious. Nighting continued his sprinting, jumping bar to bar until he was down on ground level, but he was too late.    
  
The man who dropped the crate dropped the syringe onto the ground with shaking hands.    
  
"Crap." Nightwing repeated.    
  
The man doubled over and clutched at his stomach, erupting into a painful scream as muscles we're already rippling and growing at a gross and alarming speed. Nightwing jumped from the shadows and sprinted through the dock, alerting every criminal there to his presence in quite a spectacular way—"oh where's that Nightwing guy? Woah, he's running suddenly towards us!!!"—and jumped onto the back of the Venom infested man. He whipped out his other stick and tried to knock the guy out, but the Venom took over and the man threw Nightwing with a mighty yell that would make the Hulk jealous.    
  
A fist that was five times the size it was a couple seconds ago knocked into Nightwing's side and sent him hurtling through the air in a similar way his escrima stick had a few minutes ago. He let out a moan when he felt his ribs give in just a bit as he spun in the air. Thankfully, he quickly orientated himself and landed—albeit sloppily—on the pavement before launching himself to the side as bullets sprayed where he had just been. The bullets ricocheted off the asphalt and kicked up bits of stone and sparks.   
  
Nightwing flipped across the ground and grabbed his other escrima stick before taking cover behind a shipping compartment, the sound of bullets hitting metal followed him.    
  
"GET HIM." Someone, probably Gave, screamed through the gunfire.   
  
Nighting only had a second to catch his breath and convince his brain to ignore his jostled ribs before a hand three times the size of Nightwing's hand slammed around the corner of the container, each of its sausage like fingers sunk deep into the metal, bending it in ways that shouldn't be possible. The container was whipped aside, flying through the air and landing on the scaffolding Nightwing had been hiding at a few minutes ago and knocking the whole structure over. Nightwing barely had time to think that the Venom this time was either  _ extremely _ strong or shouldn't be taken by the vial before he was back flipping out of the way of the hand belonging to the man turned monster. Metal screeched as scaffolding collapsed on itself and the monster in front of his yelled in a chaotic rage. He swung another blow and Nightwing just barely was able to bring his sticks in front of him to at least block the blow.    
  
The force of the blow alone hurt like a mother, but Nightwing was able to force the hit to his side and the monster ended up slipping and hitting the ground with enough power to shake the ground and make a hand shaped print in the asphalt.    
  
Nightwing didn't give the monster any time to recover before he jammed the ends of his escrima sticks into its side, feeding it enough electricity to knock out a gorilla. The monster screamed and spasmed before, in one last attempt, it the out it's arm and swatted Nightwing aside like he was a fly. The monster stumbled and fell to its knees, but Nightwing was more worried about trying to land once again without jostling his ribs that he was sure a few were broken now. He wasn't so lucky this time, he ended up rolling on the the ground quite a few times before coming to a painful stop.    
  
Everything went silent as Nightwing did his best to not throw up.   
  
"Is… is he dead?" Asked a voice, not Gave.    
  
"I don't know, go check!" Ah, there is Gave.   
  
Nightwing heard multiple pairs of footsteps begin to approach him and he went still, playing dead for the moment. A foot jammed into his side and it took all of his training to not grunt out in pain.    
  
"He looks dead to me," the man who kicked him said. Nightwing waited a few more seconds before two more footsteps arrived. His eyes shot open and he launched his attack with a complicated spin on his hands with his legs in the air—it looked more like a hip hop move, but it was still useful for fighting. His ribs protested in pain as his feet connected with the faces of three out of four conscious hired guns and he flipped onto his feet and got into a fighting position. Because of his ribs, the move wasn't as effective as he would have liked, only knocking one of three out and making the other two stumble.    
  
Nightwing launched his attack viciously. There were two burly looking men standing in front of him with guns they definitely knew how to use, so he had to act quickly before they got the idea to pull their triggers. Nightwing went to hit one of them with his escrima sticks and watched the other one carefully—who was standing off a bit looking pissed off.   
  
The man—who seemed to be buff  _ and _ fast—dodged to the side and went to sucker punch Nightwing's side, which Nightwing just barely managed to block with his other hand. He quickly returned attack and bitch slapped him across the jaw with his stick. The man stumbled back with a moan and Nightwing was instantly under attack from the other hired gun. He gasped as meaty arms wrapped around his middle, trying to knock him down wrestling style, but Nightwing planted his feet and grabbed his shoulders. His ribs ached with fire yet he continued to ignore it as he shoved the other man away and threw his escrima stick at the first thug who had been trying to aim his gun without hurting his partner. The gun flew out of his hand and Nightwing sprinted towards him to finish him.    
  
The man recovered quickly, which was a sad fact about much Blüdhaven criminals. They weren't skittish like Gotham scum, but hardened criminals that really knew how to fight.    
  
And the fight continued, a fight filled with Nightwing throwing sticks and dodging punches from two men who could be mistaken as bears.    
  
At some point, Nightwing lost both of his Escrima sticks and his hair began to stick to his forehead. He hadn't had a fight this intense in awhile… which is why he had tried to wait for a better moment. He was using his forearms to block blows from the two men who decided to proceed onto him at the same time and slowly backing up with each blow. He growled and was just about to finally return a punch when both the men got horrified looks on their faces and backed away.    
  
Nightwing was just able to feel a little confused before his whole upper body was encased in a giant hand.    
  
He couldn't stop the agonized scream that escaped his lips when the hand squeezed violently before throwing him across the courtyard.    
  
Nightwing landed hard against one of the containers, knocking every body part he had against cold metal, before he flopped down onto the ground. Before he could even take a shuddering breath, he was dragged up to his feet by the Hulk and lifted up by one hand around his neck.    
  
Now he really wished he had that time to take a breath, and now he's being strangled when he's already out of air.    
  
He felt blood trail down his forehead and leak over the lenses of his mask as his feet dangled helplessly below him. The monster was holding him up at arm's length, a length that was just barely out of Nightwing's kicking range. He brought his hands up to the hand around his neck and clawed as hard as he could, both trying to get out of the grasp and hold himself up by something other than his neck.    
  
Nothing was working and his ears were ringing.    
  
To his side, he noticed Gave poke his head out from behind a compartment—the coward—and smirk at Nightwing's. One of the hired men brushed off his hands like he did all the work.    
  
Gave walked up to where Nightwing dangled and his grin widened. "This is the Batman copycat? Pathetic."   
  
"He fights like he's used to someone having his back," one of the guns said.    
  
Nightwing lost the next thing to be said in his own ringing hearing and blurring vision. He felt hot breath on his face and the hand around him felt cold as ice.    
  
He let one hand fall to blindly search for  _ something _ .    
  
"Just finish him-" someone said through the ringing.    
  
_ Where… _   
  
_ There _ .   
  
He grabbed his grappling gun and jammed the pointed end into the hand holding him up.    
  
The monster wailed and dropped Nightwing like a rag doll onto the ground. Nightwing didn't like hurting people, there's a reason he used blunt force weapons instead of sharpened batterangs, but in that moment he was so deep in fight or flight that he didn't care. He somehow kept a grasp on the grapple and it slid out of the monsters palm with a slick pop with him as he landed hard on the ground. Before anyone could question what happened, Nightwing took the arguably heroic—though at the moment he felt like a coward—way out. With black rimming his vision and his whole body in total agony, he shot the bloody grapple towards the distance and retreated. He kept going until the smell of the sea was far behind him and his legs gave out. He stumbled in the dark streets and slid against one of the buildings brick walls, breathing hard.    
  
"Damn," he whispered as the clouds opened up to rain.    
  
"Damnit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second crappy black sheep of the family. Let's hope we don't get a third. Thanks for reading! Next time is Nightwing (you guys really like to torture his superhero ego) chained to a bed! (I already feel gross even though it's not going to be explicit, I don't write that kind of content).


	10. Chained to a Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY REFERENCES TO NIGHTWING 93. PAY ATTENTION TO THE NEWEST TAGS, CUZ THERE ARE IMPLICATIONS AND I WANT ALL OF YOU TO STAY SAFE WHILE READING. IF THIS KIND OF CONTENT (NON-CON OR RAPE) IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ.
> 
> Waking up chained to a pink bed is not the best way to start off any adventure, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN, STAY SAFE GUYS.
> 
> Sorry this one took awhile again, but life got crazy again. Work is a jerk and my car randomly decided to not turn on and craziness in general. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter. I tried to put my best writing into it since it's such a serious topic, and it also ended up being quite long, so yeah. 
> 
> Warning you now, there are plot holes in this chapter just because it started to get so long and some stuff just didn't really need to be resolved.
> 
> LOTS OF GRAMMAR ERRORS THAT I SOMEHOW MISSED, LONGER CHAPTERS MEAN MORE MISTAKES SINCE IM DOING THE EDITING AND WRITING ALONE. ILL TRY TO GET AROUND TO FIXING THEM WHEN IM HOME :)))))

Dick groaned. Even behind closed eyes his vision swirled; not making his mysterious headache feel any better. He felt like he was waking up with a hangover, but he didn't remember drinking… not that most people that wake up with hangovers actually remember getting drunk. For a moment, he thought that maybe he had gone to a party, but then he remembered that the only thing worth celebrating in his plans for the next two months was Tim's birthday, and alcohol would  _ absolutely _ not be present there.   
  
It took a few seconds of wracking his brain for his body to jolt and for him to realize that the last thing he remembered was patrol. His nerves awoke with a spark of electricity and he recognized the familiar feeling of his Nightwing suit tight around his skin. The pressure at the top of his nose became significant to him, making him almost sigh in relief that his mask was still on.    
  
He dared himself to move—surely if his head hurt so much his whole body would as well—but when he began to shift his hand up to his forehead, his wrist met resistance. His stomach sunk with the sound of chains clinking and if were any less trained, he would have jerked up and struggled. Instead he carefully moved his other limbs and unfortunately met the same resistance of shackles and manacles.    
  
He opened his eyes and ignored how his headache seemed to travel to the back of his irises.    
  
He had expected to be chained down in some kind of dungeon or torture room, but he was surprised to meet the sight of a normal bedroom ceiling; the kind where children would lay on the ground and make shapes out of the random squiggles like they would with clouds. It took him a couple seconds to look around the rest of the room he was in, and with those few seconds his confusion grew.    
  
He was in a normal bedroom… by the looks of it it belonged to a teenaged girl—judging by the bright colored walls that popped out even in the shadows of the moon clawing itself through the closed curtains above the window. Posters were taped to the wall, of various bands and celebrities, and a wardrobe sat half open to reveal clothes that definitely belonged to a girl. He found himself in a full sized bed placed center of the far wall across the door. He was chained spread-eagle to each of the bed posts with just enough room to slightly bend his knees and wave his arms in an "are you kidding me" kind of gesture.    
  
He flicked his fingers towards his wrist and his gut dropped when they get nothing. He lifted his head from the plush pink pillow below him and studied his outstretched arm with a growing sense of horror.    
  
He was disarmed… effectively. With a bit of searching, he found all of his secret pockets and hidden weapons searched and made useless. At the moment, he was just an abnormally strong guy in a kevlar suit. He was practically reduced to a Dick Grayson wearing oddly good cosplay.    
  
The metal bands circling his wrists and ankles we're thin but extremely tight and didn't look cheap. The chains connecting from the bands to the bed posts were about the thickness of his own pinky finger, but they too didn't look like cheap metal, that—along with the thick padlock securing the chains around each post—did not bode well.   
  
Then it hit him.   
  
There was only one person who could effectively kidnap, disarm, and restrain Nightwing.    
  
A chuckle reached his ears just as a growl rumbled in his throat. "Deathstroke," he snarled and kicked at the quilt below him to scoot himself up into a somewhat sitting position.    
  
Out from the shadows emerged the one and only Slade Wilson. His mask sat annoyingly on his face, cored half yellow and half black, allowing a hole for only one eye. Deathstroke wore his classic uniform which made him look like he crawled out of a call of duty game. The last part of Nightwing's patrol suddenly came back to him; he remembered jumping over the gap between two apartment buildings before something stabbed his neck mid leap. He could feel the bruises on his shoulders and ribs start to smart as he recalled fumbling the landing on the other building and rolling into darkness.    
  
"What's your game?" Nightwing growled as he tugged on the cuffs on his wrists. They were too tight, cutting off circulation and making sure that if Nightwing dislocated his thumb to get out the escape would be very painful band would permanently damage his digits.   
  
Deathstroke let out a cocky snicker at the back of his throat and casually leaned back against the wall, folding his muscular arms across his chest. "You think this is for my own amusement?" Deathstroke asked with a smirk lacing his vocal chords. "Not everything is about you, Grayson. Actually, this is just a job, you squirming, trapped, is just an added bonus."   
  
Nightwing's muscles rippled with the mentioned use of his name; reminding him that Deathstroke knew full well what his real identity was, but he pushed that to the back of his mind because he already knew that Deathstroke knew, right now the important thing was that a third party excited in the situation, which was never good.   
  
"So?" Nightwing said slowly as he attempted to shift into a more defensive position—though he failed miserably in the sense he had a very limited range of motion. "Are you going to kill me?"   
  
Deathstroke suddenly took a step forward with heavy boots pounding even on the carpeted floor, yet the chuckle that reached Nightwing's ears were so much louder. He felt his throat go dry and his fingers cold as the fact that if Deathstroke really wanted to kill him: he'd most certainly be dead.   
  
"Now that would be the norm, wouldn't it?" Deathstroke asked with an almost bored tone of voice. He stopped just a few feet from the bed and stared through his mask like Nightwing was an interesting animal. Nightwing tensed his muscles and stretched his limbs to the limit so he could sit with Deathstroke in front of him… so he could attempt to defend himself if Deathstroke decided the talking was over. "However, my job is already done. I was paid just to bring you here and leave you to whatever my payer has planned."   
  
Nightwing snarled and jerked his arm when Deathstroke put a hand on his shoulder. It churned his stomach when he couldn't remove the hand from his body; it made him feel completely helpless… completely open for any kind of attack.    
  
"Make sure you get out of this one, kid," Deathstroke said, leaning forward, "it would be a shame if  _ this _ defeated you."   
  
"Let me go, Deathstroke," Nightwing said lowly, granted it hurt his pride to say that to Wilson, but he honestly had bad feelings about where he was and what could happen. He'd much rather take a blow to his ego by begging a bit than whatever Deathstroke's "payer" had planned.    
  
Deathstroke didn't say anything, but Nightwing could just  _ tell _ that he was grinning. He gave Nightwing's shoulder a pat before he stood and began to walk over to the door.    
  
"Wilson!" Nightwing called out. He pulled against the chains and kicked his legs, in futile hope to get free, as Deathstroke opened the door and closed it behind him. Nightwing swore and began to recheck his suit, hoping that just maybe there was a lockpick that had been missed. He heard the low, smooth voice of Slade Wilson say something difficult to make out on the other side of the door, followed closely by calm and retreating footsteps.    
  
Nightwing took a deep breath of air and forced himself to relax against the pillows behind his head so he could  _ think _ . There was nothing he could do. Even trying to make the looping chains shift over the top of the bed posts revealed itself to be an impossible feat with how elegantly carved each post was. The chains were locked around the smallest parts of each post, between bumps and mountains of wood. His suit was lacking of all weapons and tools, making an attempted to escape almost impossible.    
  
The only way out, he realized, was to permanently damage his thumbs in the process.    
  
With that happy detail in mind, the door suddenly opened, and who walked through made him still completely and… stare.    
  
"Sorry about the room," the woman said quietly. She gently closed the door behind her with a soft push, though Nightwing didn't miss how her thumb brushed over the lock before she approached further. "It's my old one, my new room is a lot less… pink." She laughed to herself like she said something hilarious. When Nightwing continued to study her, she almost nervously adjusted the bathrobe that had been tied around her slender body. "Though, I had to put you here… it's the least…"   
  
_ Escapable _ .    
  
She took a small step towards the bed and Nightwing flexed his jaw at the gesture. "What are you doing?" He finally when he found his voice. He hadn't expected the person who bought a mission from Deathstroke to look so petite and womanly. He was expecting a perverted old man or a greedy grin, not a slight figure clothed in a thin, almost skimpy bathrobe that left almost nothing to imagination, not a woman with soft looking skin and wide eyes that glinted in the moonlight squeezing itself through the shut curtains. "Deathstroke isn't someone you want to make deals with."   
  
"But I had to have you," she said, suddenly desperate.   
  
Her hands came up to the neck of her robe and she lowered the neck ever so slightly. If… if Dick hadn't been back with Babs and of he wasn't, you know,  _ chained _ to the bed, he would have found the action extremely arousing. Under any other circumstances, the woman before him was a beauty, a sight to behold, but… something was wrong. Something in the way she held herself screamed danger, screamed that he had to get out of there quickly. For a moment, he thought he caught the whiff of a perfume he hadn't smelt for a very long time, the smell of  _ her _ , and that scared him out of his mind.   
  
"I can't just…" she continued as she took small but quick steps closer to him, "just… go to Blüdhaven and wait for you to sweep me off my feet… I have to have you now." Before Nightwing could process her words, he found the side of the mattress tilting with the weight of another person and his stomach lurched with it. "Need you now…" she whispered, crawling towards him like a desperate puppy.    
  
His whole body flinched when one of her hands placed itself in the middle of his chest and he almost choked on his breath when another gently began to comb through his hair. When a leg lifted over his waist and allowed the woman to straddle him… he suddenly couldn't breathe at all.   
  
_ "Don't touch me…" _ __  
  
_ The feeling of rain. _ __  
__  
_ "I'm..." _ __  
__  
_ The smell of blood. _ __  
__  
_ "Quiet, mi amor. Callado." _ __  
__  
_ Hard cement below... warm body above. _ __  
  
_ "Poisonous." _   
  
And then he was back with lips forced onto his own. His arms jolted like they were electrified, if he weren't restrained, he would have thrown the woman off him and across the room. Her hands moved up his chest to his hair and her legs hugged his own and he desperately wanted to cry because he thought he had finally moved on, accepted what happened and that it wasn't his fault and that there were just monsters in the world that-   
  
_ /That's good, that's right. We're free now… alive." _   
  
The body above him shifted like a snake wrapping up it's prey and Nightwing's lungs were completely out of air, he could just barely take a gasping breath when her lips released him with her own hard breathing… yet she wasn't breathing hard for the same reasons he was.    
  
"St… stop," Nightwing said, hating how small his voice was and how hard the bed suddenly felt. Hated the sounds of thunder and the smell of copper and- "get- get off."   
  
She didn't listen, she was too lost in some sort of distorted lust. Her hands went up to her bathrobe as fast at the lightning flashing behind his eyes and suddenly there was a woman whose naked form he could just barely make out through the fog in his eyes reaching down to unzip his own clothes.   
  
Fight of flight took control, it didn't matter how scared or lost in the last he was he was trained to not let himself become victim. He let himself once, lost in the haze of cold blooded murder and hands he trusted, but not once again.   
  
"Need you…" she whispered between gasping breaths and he screamed the moment her fingers touched the hem of his suit around his neck.    
  
That shocked her, but he didn't take too much notice in the way her hands came up to her chest or how her eyes got a bit clearer. He jerked his hips and waste as hard as he could, and thanks to her small build, she was easily thrown off. He didn't allow himself to ask why he hadn't just done that before she started to forcibly make out with him as he desperately focused on the cuffs on his wrists.    
  
For a moment, his mind was clear enough to realize he'd rather no longer have working thumbs than ever have…  _ that _ happen to him again.    
  
"No, no, no," came a quiet plea that he couldn't afford to listen to, "you don't understand- I need you!"   
  
He was too busy focusing on how much his thumb was about to hurt when the hands were back and the legs were wrapped so tight and her mouth was on his with strands of both their hair between their lips and his thumbs were in the worst possible position and-   
  
"GET OFF HIM!"   
  
And he could breathe.   
  
-o-o-o-o-   
  
Cold wind blew, not like that was new. Nights in Gotham could only be compared to a bat, like it's protector. Cold, quiet, teeth as sharp as knives. Well, not like Batman bad sharp vampire teeth, but that was the metaphor and Jason was sticking with it. However, he wasn't in Gotham. He was where the nights were more cold, more silent, more deadly, like a dark room that spiders made their home in; the feeling of poisonous legs crawling up your spine, seeping through your clothes and biting into your skin no matter what you did.    
  
Yeah, if Gotham's nights were a bat, Blüdhaven would definitely be spiders.    
  
_ "Anything?" _   
  
Hood sighed and looked around the rooftop he was currently perched on top of and the apartment complexes surrounding him. "Nothing out of the norm." He bent down and lifted a small furry thing. "Dead rats… smell of drugs… grime that won't wash out with one shower, so yeah, nothing different. Can I go now?"   
  
_ "No…" Oracle said impatiently through his ear piece. "His transmitter cut out there… I need your help finding where he went." _   
  
Hood sighed. Why did he have to be in the area and why did she have to be so good at her night job that she knew that. Now he was like… expected to help out. "Maybe he just got tired of you watching his ever step and he cut it himself."   
  
_ "Shut up." _   
  
"Maybe he's just back at home taking a long nap. Have you tried texting him?"   
  
_ "Hood I'm going to stab you." _   
  
"Okay okay," he laughed and stood up, dropping the rat back onto the muck covered ground with a gross sounding  _ plop _ . "But seriously, there's nothing here besides normal Blüdhaven crap and a couple knocked over boxes."   
__  
_ "Are there any cameras around you?" _   
  
Hood sighed and glanced around the rooftop again. Nothing too suspicious about it, definitely not the kind of place Nightwing would disappear from the face of the Earth from. No, he'd do it more dramatically, somewhere that screamed  _ extra _ ; not this run of the mill building top whose most attractive feature included a clothing line with some hanging under garments attached. Too bad those were boxers, not panties.    
  
The sound of police sirens met his ears and soon followed the angry barking of some kind of demonic sounding dog. How could anyone focus in this armpit of America? God, it smelled worse than Tim's room.   
  
"Ah, there one is," Hood said cheerfully. Right above the door leading to the roof, looking all innocent and almost too clean to be in the city at all was a small, white device that definitely recorded some crap.   
  
_ "Good, get me the information I need to hack into it." _   
  
Hood gave her what she needed before he sat down on the edge of the roofs railings. His legs hung over the edge and he leaned back as far as he safely could before falling backwards. He could go. Not that Oracle could really stop him from doing so, but he decided the polite thing to do was to wait it out a bit and not completely leave her high and dry. Try to be a decent person… remind himself that he's trying to get along with everyone instead of trying to kill them. What's the harm in finding where your adopted older brother disappeared to with his cool girlfriend?    
  
None.   
  
Didn't stop him from being bored and rather wanting to be sleeping.   
  
_ "Hood." Her voice suddenly rang out in his ear, urgent… sounding almost scared.  _   
  
"What?" He said, sitting himself up straight. Even though there was no point in lifting his hand up to his ear (because of the helmet and Batman tech) he still did, just as his bodies natural reaction to something serious. "What happened?"   
  
" _ Deathstroke. _ " She said, almost like one who was a wizard would say  __ Voldemort.

The name make Hood pause a second and draw his eyebrows together. “You saw him on the camera?”

“ _ Y-yeah. Nightwing was jumping across the building when he suddenly went unconscious mid jump… Deathstroke enters the frame a couple seconds later and just… picks him up. _ ”

“No, Deathstroke wouldn’t  _ just  _ pick Nightwing up on camera. He’s smarter than that.”

“ _ Well… whoever he is, he took Nightwing. I’m going to try to follow where he went with traffic cams. _ ”

Hood sighed and stood up from the edge of the rooftop as Oracle began her search. Every few minutes, she’d a sound of frustration or of excitement before telling him to go to that intersection or this coffee shop camera and soon he was on a rather easy chase after a man who kidnapped the most kidnappable person in the world. Before he knew it, he was on his motorcycle going ninety away from Bludhaven towards a plot of land owned by a family of very rich people. Not as rich as the B man, certainly not able to really count as a 1 percenter, but definitely rich enough to pay Deathstroke—apparently—for a job.

“ _ He takes Nightwing out of the trunk at this part and carries him inside the building. The trail ends here. _ ” Oracle said as he pulled his motorcycle to a halt about a mile away from the manor. Crickets sang softly in the distance and the lowering moon cast silver shadows over the forest trees around him. Seriously, why did rich people buy so much land just for most of it to just be untamable forest? He’d have to ask big old Mr Bat that one later.

He took off the cycling helmet from his head and ruffled his mostly black hair—stupid stubborn piece of white, if L’Oreal couldn't fix it, he’s not sure anything could—before he reached into his backpack and pulled out Hood’s helmet. He popped it over his sweaty hair and back onto his face. “So he hasn’t left, or you just lost him?” He asked as he stepped over his bike and kicked down the kickstand. He began to ruffle further into his bag, digging out weapons and such, as one does.

_ “You doubt me? _ ” She said with a false tone of playfulness. Hood knew full well that she was about a centimeter from snapping. “ _ He’s definitely still in there. I don’t know why he wouldn’t make an effort of hiding just to disappear now. Just be careful when you get there.” _

“Will do,” he replied. 

“ _ Warning you now, we may loose connec-. _ ”

“Figured.” Losing connection seemed bound to happen judging by how the last part of just cut off.

Curse the service. They’ve been to the moon but they couldn’t keep phone connection strong outside of any major city. For a second, it occured to Hood that maybe they should have borrowed some of Bruce's nice tech that could transmit across space and probably time—they’ve tested space, time was a bit harder to test—instead of taking classic wireless earbuds. Hood avoided using much of anything that he didn’t obtain himself and he was still a bit petty and liked to refuse help from Bruce whenever possible, so maybe it was his fault that the connection went out. Or it was Verizon's fault for being more crappy than they let on. Either way, Red Hood was on his own with his only back-up being a woman in a wheelchair on bad connection.

“Damn,” he sighed. He finished putting a pistol together and attaching it to the holster at his hip before swinging the bag over his shoulders and making his hike through the untamed wilderness of rich people front yards.

It took about ten minutes for him to half walk half jog up to the manor. His calves burned just a little bit from the steady, unpaved, and uphill climb up, but he eventually got to a point where he could see the towering white building up ahead, poking up behind trees. He snuck closer, keeping to the shadows and bushes, hoping beyond hope that there weren’t any body guards. He didn’t want to waste his energy on half trained wannabees. He’d much rather go straight to the manor, kick Deathstroke’s ass, then take the damsel in distress out from wherever he was being held prisoner. Three steps, simple, easy, most definitely realistic. 

He came to the edge between the forest and the white paved driveway and was just about to somewhat confidently approach when the front doors (rich people and their stupid double doors) swung open. Hood just barely managed to dive behind a pathetic looking bush—thankfully, the darkness of night kind of made up for it—before a figure began to descend down the front steps. 

_ Deathstroke.  _

Yup. Hood would recognize that mask, build, and old-man-pretending-to-be-young posture anywhere. He briefly wondered what’s Slade’s game was, what plan he had hidden up his stupid sleeves, before he forced his mind to go blank and body to go still. He watched and practically held his breath as Slade’s boots pounded heavily down the front steps and onto the driveway. Hood felt his body naturally tense as Deathstroke started to approach his spot, praying just a little bit that Deathstroke wouldn’t notice him. Yes, he did just literally say a bit ago that he wanted to kick that guys caboose, but honestly, there was a reason the guy was still out of jail even though Nightwing was constantly on his tail and Batman always helping from the shadows. Deathstroke was good, and Hood had a bruised enough ego to admit that if he faced Deathstroke head on… he may find Nightwing by becoming his prison mate.

His breath caught in his throat when Deathstroke suddenly stopped walking just a couple feet from Hoods super secret dead bush with his head tilted just so slightly to the side like he heard something. Maybe he did. He did have super abilities after all. Right when Hood was about to resign himself to Deathstroke’s version of  _ fe-fi-fo-fum, I smell Batman proteges behind a dead bush, _ Deathstroke let out a breathy chuckle and walked away. Hood continued to hold his breath and count his miniscule amount of lucky stars until Deathstroke jumped into the driver's seat of the car he had originally come in and drive off. For a second, Hood chastised himself for not thinking about putting a tracker on the car, but then he remembered that Deathstroke kind of sort of entered the house with an unconscious guest, and said guest did not leave with him. 

No matter how much it would boost Nightwing’s ego, Hood had to admit that at the moment, Nightwing was more important. 

“Ho-kay,” Hood said quietly to himself. He placed his hands firmly onto his knees and hefted himself up. He wondered how Deathstroke didn’t notice him and why he ended up being so easy to track down, but he pushed that all to the back of his mind. One thing at a time. Action now, questions later. 

Instead of barging through the front door like his head strong personality oh so desperately wanted to do, he walked over to the lowest point of the shingled roof top and heft himself up by the means of awesome parkour (ie; he found a sturdy looking gutter and did a pretty impressive pullup) and searched for a good window to break in from. 

It did a bit of shimmying to get to the first window, which just happened to be a fancy double window like a double door that opened from the sides instead from the bottom like a  _ normal window.  _ The other side of the glass was dark, both from the lights that must have been turned off and from thick looking curtains. It was a simple latch that kept the window closed, simple to unlock too. All he would have to do is-

Something was on the other side of the window. He just barely managed to catch the dark shadows moving, actually he was kind of surprised he caught it in the first place. That would make things difficult. People on the other side would complicate things. By the looks of it… and by that, if he tilted his head just a bit and squinted his eyes… it looked like there were two people… on a bed…?

Oh man he did NOT want to walk in on that. Dis-gu-sting.

He was just about to turn away when the sound of a… terror filled scream met his ears followed by thumping noise of something hitting the ground hard. His blood ran cold when he recognized the voice belonging to the scream. Instantly, before he could question anything like a good ex-Robin should probably do, he was hefting the latch up and swinging the window open. He shoved the curtains aside just in time to see a woman completely in the nude straddling a chained man in familiar black and blue.

He saw red.

“GET OF HIM!” He roared. 

His body moved on its own, his legs pushed him onto the soft carpet and his hands grabbed her by the hair, throwing her across the room like she was a vile rodent. His chest heaved and he didn’t even bother to remember who was chained to the bed before he was bending down and grabbing the woman by her forearm, hefting her up, and slamming her into a wall before she could even call out for any help. She made a pathetic sounding whimper and crashed against the wall, slamming her skull into the pink wallpaper, splattering it with something darker. He could hear her choked sobs and he just didn’t care. How dare she. How  _ dare  _ she!

“HOOD!” Came a voice; he didn’t listen. He was too… too disgusted to care about anything other than that the woman clawing at his arms as he lifted her again. Again, he slammed her into the wall and something choked escaped her throat. Someone called out again, but it was far away. Once again, he lifted her, but this time she was limp, but that didn’t matter- what mattered was-

“JASON STOP!”

Dick.

Dick mattered.

Oh god, Dick.

He let go of the limp woman and allowed her to flop onto the ground before he turned and finally saw the room without the red painted rage that took over his eyes. There, in the bed pushed against the wall, was Nightwing, looking both horrified and relieved beyond all doubt. His chest was heaving and his libs were straining against their restraints. 

“Shit,” Hood whispered before leaving the woman… the monster… on the ground and practically flying over to Nightwing. Under any other circumstances, he would have made fun of Nightwing for getting caught. He’d call him a princess trapped in a castle. Princess goldilocks, or something like that. But this? This was vile. This wasn’t something you could cover up with a sarcastic joke and a pat on the back. This was worse than torture.

He stopped himself a few inches from the bed. Nightwing kept looking between him and the woman on the floor like he couldn’t quite believe what happened. Hood… Hood couldn’t quite believe it himself. 

“Did… did she…” Hood started.

“No,” Nightwing replied with a swallow, “she didn’t…”

Hood could have passed out with relief right there, because no one would deserve that, least of all Nightwing. Rape… rape was something that was so wicked that it  _ should not exist. _

“If… if you could get me out?” Nightwing suddenly spoke up.

Hood looked down at Nightwing and it took him a moment to realize he had slipped so deep into his thoughts that he forgot Nightwing was still tied down. “Yeah, yeah give me a moment.”

He dug into one of his many pockets and pulled out some lock picks. It took all of his self control to not let his hands tremble as he leaned down to begin on the first lock around Nightwing’s left wrist, but he brought his hands back to his chest like he’d been burned when Nightwing violently flinched when his hands got too close. He suddenly realized that Nightwing could be  _ lying.  _

“I’m-” Hood managed to strangle out “are you okay?”

Nightwing looked pissed, whether it was at himself or at Hood was unknown. “I’m fine. Sorry. Just get me out.”

Hood nodded, not wanting to push further and flip the switch on Nightwing’s famous temper. He leaned down lower than last time and was able to to poke the head of the lockpick into the cuff lock without any further accidents, though he could see Nightwing clenching his jaw and glaring at the ceiling while Hood wooked. Nightwing’s fingers trembled and his arm muscles rippled beneath his suit. Finally, after a few moment’s of tense silence, the lock on Nightwing’s wrist clicked open, letting one limb free. Without any warning, Nightwing’s arm shot out and made a mad grasp for Hood’s hands, and without thinking, Hood pulled back.

Nightwing narrowed his eyes and Hood realized that he just made a mistake. “Give me the pick, Hood,” Nightwing practically growled. Hood was almost inclined to do so, let the guy get himself out before he snapped, but his eyes trailed down to Nightwing’s shaking hands. If Nightwing was under any king of control, his hands wouldn’t have been shaking. 

“You’ll just hurt yourself,” Hood said quietly. “Your hands are shaking.”

Nightwing glanced down to his free hand that he had extended out in a  _ give me  _ gesture before he clenched his fist. “Give. It. To. Me,” he repeated, staring at Hood with stone cold resolve.

Hood knew there was no talking Nightwing out of it, not when he was so worked up and not when his bipolar temper was so very easy to activate. He swallowed and carefully stepped over with the pick extended in his hand. Before he could even say  _ Bob's-your-uncle,  _ the pick was snatched out of his hand and shoved into the lock of Nightwing’s other trapped wrist.

It was amazing what Batman’s training could do and how it could kick in, even with hands shaking enough to cause a 4.0 magnitude earthquake, Nightwing managed to completely free himself in less than a minute. 

Hood carefully approached and went to help Nightwing up from the bed, but Nightwing got himself up on unsteady legs before Hood could get too close with his chest heaving. Hood decided it may not be a good idea to get too up in Nightwing’s limited personal space. 

“Let’s go. Call and ambulance,” Nightwing said, glancing over to the unconscious molester and Hood wanted to scream. How dare Nightwing continue to treat people like they were worth keeping alive after what just—almost, dear god let it be almost—happened to him. 

However, Nightwing had a set jaw that said if Hood didn’t call an ambulance, Nightwing would… well Hood didn’t know what he would do but he’s sure he wouldn’t like to find out. Hood dug out a burner phone and was about to dial the police when he looked up and saw Nightwing shifting foot to foot, rubbing one wrist almost like it was a second thought compared to actually needing to rub any chafing. Hood cleared his throat. “You sure you’re okay?”

Nightwing looked up and glared and this time Hood got the message. If he asked again, the woman wouldn’t be the only one leaving the manor in an ambulance. Sibling status or not, Nightwing would beat Hood into next week. 

He swallowed and looked back down to the phone.

-o-o-o-o-

Jason sighed and collapsed onto the crappy sofa in Dick’s crappy apartment. Somehow, the walk back to the motorcycle had calmed Nightwing down enough to be okay with touch, so he didn’t have to find an alternate way back to the city. In complete silence, they made it to Dick’s apartment and separated to gather their bearings in whatever way they could. Jason prefered to sit down and pretend nothing happened while Dick, with a locked jaw and sharp eyes, disappeared into his bedroom, followed shortly by the sound of a shower. 

Jason could leave. He wasn’t exactly needed anymore, and Dick hadn’t made any comment about wanting him to stick around, so by all means he could bid farewell to Bludhaven and take a vacation.

However, an hour later found him still chilling on the sofa, waiting for Dick to walk out.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too much longer for Dick to come out his bedroom door, garbed in warm looking pajamas. His eyes trailed down to Jason, who was sprawled out in a position that shouldn’t be as comfortable as it was and half asleep.

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Dick said, smirking ever so slightly.

Jason let go of a breath he had no clue he was holding, and suddenly his whole body felt so much more relaxed with that one sentence. Thank the lord above that Dick was as quick to his happy self as he was to anger. He must have been okay.

“Too tired to go. Crashing here,” Jason said. 

Dick shrugged and walked over to Jason. “Where’s the remote?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Move, I think you’re sitting on it…”

Jason pointlessly argued back, only to be shoved completely off the couch to reveal the missing remote. Dick sat down and Jason begrudgingly sat down next to him and soon they were both emotionally involved in  _ The Princess Bride  _ as the numbers on the clock above the stove blinked midnight. As Inigo Montoya fought Westly atop a cliff, Jason looked away from the screen to give Dick one last worried glance. 

“You… you sure you’re okay?” He risked quietly.

Dick tensed and Jason wondered if they would ever find his body before Dick sighed. “I will be. Thanks.”

“Y-yeah. No prob.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot holes: Deathstroke purposely made himself easy to follow because there are lines he wont cross. He had also hoped Dick would be able to escape on his own, test him of his abilities because I've always been a fan of creepily obsessed with Dick Slade Wilson.
> 
> Jason calls gets an angry phone call from Babs the next morning and explains to her that Dick is fine, she doesn't believe him until he gives the phone to Dick. Dick doesn't tell her all that happens, but he assures her he's not hurt. She reluctantly lets it go. 
> 
> Jason didn't know Tarantula raped him.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed, next up is Electrocuted with the only request being Dick's siblings seeing it happen, so look forward to that!


	11. Electrocution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman has to choose between saving the city, or saving his sons. The decision almost costs Nightwing his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeyyyyy! Looks who's where dropping an 8k Chapter! Tis me.

The car came to a stop and Robin couldn't help but wince as the movement pulled ruthlessly at his bonds. He was tied up in such a way that made his shoulders and collar bones ache, with cuffs cutting off circulation to his wrists behind his back and tape digging into his upper arms and chest, making it difficult to breath.  
  
He was disappointed in himself. He hadn't felt this useless since… since Grayson was Batman. He shouldn't have been caught. He could have easily fought off a hundred thugs by himself and still be home in time to take Titus on a walk, however he had been recovering from the flu, which made him a bit below par in his fighting abilities. It didn't help that he and Batman decided to split up to cover more ground and that he was completely alone when the very people he saved from getting mugged started to attack him. A cliche, yet apparently an effective one. Fighting off seven muggers and two faux victims became his down fall when combined with his weak state. It was only a matter of time before a taser was jammed ruthlessly into his gut.  
  
He blacked out, then woke up a second later to find himself restrained and crammed into the trunk of Kia.   
  
He heard the sound of footsteps approach the back of the car and he tensed up. He wasn't about to allow them to do whatever they wished with him. If he had to fight then with just his legs he would. He could, even. He was trained by Ra's and Batman themselves, he could one hundred percent take on even Grodd with just his legs.   
  
The trunk popped open and Robin was about to jump out and kick ass, but it unfortunately seemed that kidnappers were not about to take any chances and he was suddenly being pinned down by multiple pairs of hands. His shoulders were roughly pressed further behind his back, making his chest protest in agony, as his head was shoved hard enough down for him to see stars. He kicked out his legs, catching one of the kidnappers under the jaw, but it was a short lived victory when his legs too were being locked down. He violently twisted himself, attempting to get free or at least bite the hand bruising his cheek, but he could hardly do a thing. He was helpless. Tt.  
  
"I told you to tie his legs," a deep voice said. Robin couldn't see who spoke and who was holding him down with his face pressed down the way it was.  
  
"Ran out of tape," explained a second voice.   
  
"I gave you a whole roll?! How-"  
  
Robin worked a leg free and kicked the hand that had been holding it. His foot slammed the hand between it and the wall of the trunk he was stuffed in and he heard satisfying _snaps_ and an agonized scream.   
  
"The brat!" The man who now sported a broken hand snarled with tears in his voice.   
  
"Just get him to the chair!" The first voice yelled as he himself grabbed Robin's legs.   
  
Robin lashed out, counting four pairs of hands on his body and calculating in his head how long it would take to kill each of them. The hand digging into his cheek was removed but before Robin could even think about moving his neck, rough fabric was shoved over his head. He yelled out in frustration as he was forcibly lifted from the trunk with bruising grips on his upper arms and legs. He kicked and squirmed, trying to get free and trying to get the bag that smelt like flour off from his head. It was all for naught as he was eventually shoved into a hard wooden chair and held down as his legs were shoved against the chair's legs and duct taped in place.   
  
"Let me go!" Robin snarled in frustration, shaking his head, as three pairs of hands held him against the chair and another worked off the layers of tape around his chest, moving his cuffed hands behind the chair and taping his chest back again with a new roll of tape.   
  
A new voice suddenly called out. "Holy shit, is that the demon brat?"  
  
Robin was so surprised by the voice that he stilled just long enough for the kidnappers to finish securing him to the chair.   
  
Todd…?  
  
"We're all in suits," spoke another voice suddenly. Drake.   
  
Or, Red Robin, more like it.   
  
Great. Not only had he been kidnapped, but he had been kidnapped with Red Robin and Red Hood, two of the most annoying people he knew.   
  
"Enough," said one of the kidnappers. A new voice. How many kidnappers were there?  
  
The man must have given some kind of silent command, a nod or something similar, because suddenly the flour bag was ripped off Robin's head, tugging some of his hair with it. He winced as a bright beam of light assaulted his vision but thankfully it didn't take much blinking to focus on the scene before him.   
  
His gaze darted around rapidly, instantly taking in the underground parking garage, the number of kidnappers (12, most men, some women, all had guns. Each bat protege had their own guard behind them, the others were spaced around the garage), and his so-called adoptive sibling's states.   
  
Red Hood was missing his helmet with only his old mask covering his eyes. He looked worse for wears, like he had actually managed to put up a fight (scoff, as if), but didn't look too injured; he was blinking furiously, trying to focus—probably the beam of light that came from a rather large LED lamp directed mostly towards him. Red Robin was doing much the same as Robin, taking in the surroundings. He had a stream of blood running down his left temple and there were signs of black bruising poking out from under his mask. To the other side of Red Robin, was Nightwing. Robin hadn't realized that Nightwing would be there too, probably because he hadn't made a noise till then and had lived a few hours away in Blüdhaven. There was also the fact that Robin had a bit more faith in Nightwing compared to the others. He looked fine, just a little ruffled and really pissed. He was glaring at the man who must be the leader, probably had already completed his assessment of their situation.  
  
They were a tied up similarly to Robin, hands forced behind the chairs and tape forcing their backs to press against the support and their legs taped trapped. Robin looked over to the leader who was standing in front of them all with his hands folded across his chest. He had a hospital mask covering his lower face and nose and a buret sitting on top of his head. His suit looked fancy, though the purple color threw Robin off. He was standing on the other side of the LED lamp, so it was hard to get much details about him, but Robin could swear he saw tuffs of green hair.   
  
His stomach dropped.   
  
"Joker," Nightwing growled, gaining the came conclusion.   
  
Red Hood startled in his chair and Red Robin's lips pressed together paper thin as the leader suddenly began to wheeze a very familiar laugh. Robin stared at the villain, for the moment, very unsure of what to do. He hadn't had much contact with the Joker in his time working with Batman. Joker doesn't stay out of Arkham long much anymore, with Batman getting more alliance and Joker getting almost predictable, but Robin had heard so many stories about Batman and Joker in their younger years, when Joker was new, insane, and a complete mystery. When he tortured Grayson, very early into Robin's career, because it was a good laugh. When he killed Todd. When he had massacred entire neighborhoods and it was all Batman could do to find a trace of him.   
  
The Joker today wasn't calmer, per se, but he was more like an earthquake than the ticking bomb like he used to be. Earthquakes could be deadly, they could topple buildings, kill thousands in one fell swoop. They could start tsunami's and wipe out cities. They could open up the ground and crumble mountains. Yet, humans were more prepared for them than they used to be. They could look and see that they live in the area of occasional 5 point magnitude earthquakes and that they should prepare for it, that way when those quakes hit, their buildings aren't demolished, just slightly shaken.   
  
Still didn't make the experience of meeting an earthquake any less scary though. Didn't matter how many times in your life you had felt the very ground beneath you shiver and the walls tremble, it was still terrifying.   
  
"HAHAHA," Joker laughed. He bent down and whacked his knee with a skeletal hand. "Way to ruin the surprise, Champ! I wasn't expecting to be recognized so quickly!"  
  
Nightwing scowled as Joker ripped off the medical mask—as if that could hide his identity—and approached his hostages. As he moved, Robin noticed a rather large object hidden under a tarp that had gone unseen with Joker in the way. He barely had time to wonder what it was before Hood was yelling obscenities and tugging hard enough against his bonds that Robin was surprised he hadn't dislocated his shoulders in the process.  
  
"You _bastard_!" Hood roared, "I'll kill you!"  
  
"Hood, chill…" Red Robin murmured under his breath as he gave the ever approaching Joker a nervous look.   
  
Joker chuckled at Hoods anger and sent a wink over his way. "I missed you too," he sneered before dissolving into more chuckles.   
  
"What's your game?" Nightwing demanded over the loud laughter.  
  
Joker stopped chuckling before he straightened up with an easy going grin. His spider-like fingers reached atop his thinning green hair and adjusted the buret atop his skull. "Now, bird brain, that is the wrong question to be asking," he explained like he was talking to a child. He put a hand on his chest. " _I_ am not the one playing the game. I am the host—hehe—here see? Ha!- it is you who are the contestants!" He waved his arms out, addressing all four bats. When he got no reaction from Nightwing, he sighed and folded his arms in front of him. "However, we are still missing one participant. I've been calling and calling-"  
  
Joker suddenly stopped talking before his mouth widened into an evil grin made even more horrifying with the red pain over his mouth and cheeks.   
  
"Well," he said as he began to reach into his suit pocket, "speak of the bat!"  
  
He pulled out a familiar earpiece. It was black with little electric blue designs. Robin could see wires hanging out from the back of Nightwing's earpiece, probably cutting off the gps and other useful functions that could help them be found. Joker pressed a button on the side and stuck the piece in his ear.   
  
"Batsy!" He exclaimed like an old friend.  
  
Out of the corner of Robin's eye, he saw two or three Joker grunts begin to drag objects from other cars in the garage.   
  
"Good news, Batsy," Joker continued as he began to pace around the floor in front of his hostages, "I liked your auditions so much, I decided to have you be the main contestant on my first ever game show, hehehe!"  
  
Game show?  
  
One of the grunts dragged a large object in front of Nightwing, and with a bit of squinting Robin noticed it was a high tech video camera. Before he knew it, there were more of the same cameras placed in front of the other three hostages, by the Joker pointing towards the mysterious covered object, and in other strategic places around the room. Multiple grunts bent down to tape down wires while another group started to heft out expensive looking computers and consoles to go with then. Robin realized with a start that a news broadcasting station had been robbed quite a few days ago… and they didn't even know that Joker had escaped.   
  
"Get out of my face," Red Hood snarled viciously as the guard behind him stepped forward and began to dab his face with foundation powder.  
  
"Now," the Joker said, catching Robin's attention even as his own guard stepped forward with their own arsenal of L'Oreal and Maybelline makeup products. Priorities first. "I can't just give away the rules of the show before we have an audience! Are you near a TV, Bat? All you need is a TV and a phone to play!" The Joker burst out laughing.  
  
Robin glared at the guard that came into his field of vision. They wore a mask, they all did, but he was sure this one was a woman if the bulging in the chest beneath the leather jacket they adjourned was anything to go by. She began to wipe wet primer on his face.   
  
He growled and shook his head from out of her hands and he caught sight of the others getting much of the same treatment. Nightwing kept still, studying Joker, as blush was brushed onto his cheeks. Red Hood growled and kicked to the best of his abilities, so much so that another guard had to come over and hold Hood still. Red Robin ignored the beauty blender being wiped across his forehead as he studied the computer systems and programs on each of the screens. .  
  
"Live in fifteen, sir!" One of the grunts by the computer announced before Robin's vision was obscured again by the guard continuing her makeup routine.   
  
Joker clapped. "Places everyone! Places!"  
  
The guard turned makeup artist shifted to the side so she could get a better angle on Robin's jaw, so Robin was able to see Joker hand off the ear piece to one of the grunts. As the grunt ran off to hook the piece to one of the monitors, the Joker stood in front of them all and fixed his buret atop his head. Finally, the guards decided their faces were pampered up enough, covering bruises and cuts from previous fights, and they went back to their places behind their hostages.   
  
Robin barely had time to take a breath before a grunt by the monitors held up a hand, counting down from five. When a closed fist was made and the camera's flashed on with an electronic purr, Robin knew they were live.   
  
"WELCOME!" Joker announced, spreading his arms wide, "to my game show special!"   
  
He burst into laughter, his whole frame shaking from the action, staying like that for at least a minute before he straightened up and smiled at the camera closest to him. "We have a very special—hehehe—program for you all tonight, but first," he grinned slyly and his voice lowered, "let's meet our contestants."  
  
He moved from his spot, one of the grunts followed him with their rotating camera, and walked over to his hostages. "First," he said as he came close enough to Nighting to touch him, "we have bird breath," he continued down the line, "next we have—hmm, I don't know the name of this one…" Red Robin looked offended for a moment before the Joker continued on to the still struggling Hood. Robin wished he'd just give it a rest already. "We have a special returning guest here today, Red Hood I believe he goes by now. I bet he's hoping this show ends with a bang like the last one did!" He burst into laughter and continued on as Red Hood began to swear up the wall until a guard slammed a piece of tape over his mouth.   
  
" _This_ is a family show," they hissed under their breath.   
  
"And, over here in the far corner, we have Robin," the Joker said. Robin was just able to keep back a flinch when the Joker placed his hand on top of his head and ruffled his hair. "A very original name, I know."  
  
He let go of Robin with a slight shove of his hand as he returned to the spot in front of the covered object.   
  
"Last, but certainly not least, is our dear friend who will be joining us over the phone. Say hello, Batsy!"   
  
There was silence. The Joker frowned and Robin suddenly felt the cold bite of a knife being shoved against his neck.   
  
" _Joker_ ," Batman growled.   
  
The smile returned to the Joker's face. "Fantastic, we're all here." He turned to the camera closest to him. "Now, Bats, here is how the game will go. Actually—haha—I have two games I'd like to explain! All you have to do is choose which one you want to play. First!" He held up one finger, "I will need a volunteer from our other contestants. How about the small one?"   
  
Behind the Joker, the tarp was tugged by two grunts, revealing the sickening sight of a fifth chair. Very obviously an electric shock therapy chair. The heavy leather restraints and the wires trailing down from dentist-like chair made a pit in Robin's stomach form.   
  
"Get away," he snarled when multiple grunts approached. "Don't touch me!"  
  
The Joker laughed, but he was suddenly cut off.   
  
"I volunteer!" Nightwing announced. Robin stopped struggling in his chair and gave Nightwing an almost horrified glare. Yeah, he'd like to not be electrified, but out of everyone in the room, he was the most trained for torture. He'd be able to take it. Nightwing, credit where it's due, would be able to last longer than most, but Robin was better. "Joker! Did you hear me!?"  
  
The Joker studied Nightwing for a moment while a grunt at a monitor played a sound effect that made a "oooooh!" noise.   
  
Joker tapped his chin and then shrugged. "I was hoping to play with the little guy, but if bird brain wants to play, who am I to deny him?"   
  
The guards changed targets over to Nightwing and began to cut through the tape around his chest and legs. They hefted Nightwing up and began to drag him over to the electric chair. Robin was so focused on Nightwing being strapped down into the deadly seat that when the Joker's hand closed around Robin's shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin.   
  
"Joker!" Nightwing snarled from where his wrists were being belted down to the arms of the chair. "Don't touch a hair on his head!"   
  
Robin's nerves were so frazzled that he could hardly suppress a flinch when the Joker laughed right into his ear and grabbed onto Robin's hair. "Like this?" He asked then fell into a chest rattling giggle. Nightwing practically growled like a wild dog, which intensified the Joker's amusement. He straightened up next to Robin and made a show of pulling a single hair off Robin's head. Robin felt like he could breathe when the Joker took the hair and began to walk away.   
  
"Don't get your spandex in a twist," the Joker said easily. He walked behind Nightwing who was getting the last strap wrapped around his forehead, forcing his neck back so he rested against the head of the chair. He dropped the strand of hair onto the back of Nightwing's restrained hand and then placed his own hands around Nightwing's shoulders.   
  
"God, you're so tense!" The Joker exclaimed. Nightwing tried to move his shoulders but he could hardly even lift a finger to move the black thread-like hair sitting on his hand. "Don't worry, I know the exact thing you need. I know, I know, haha, they say that electroshock therapy is _inhumane_ and _dangerous_ , but that's not true." He let go with one of his hands and placed it against his own chest, letting out a small giggle before continuing, "I should know! It's done _wonders_ for me!"   
  
At that grim piece of information, the Joker burst into more laughter. Robin wished he would stop, it was getting on his nerves. He could tell Nightwing was trying to relax against the restraints both designed to keep him still and to make sure he didn't hurt himself or someone else when electricity began to run through his muscles, but Robin could see how he was grinding his teeth together and twitching his fingers. He was nervous. Scared maybe.   
  
For a second, Robin was tempted to call out "No! Take me instead!" because Nightwing wasn't prepared for torture. He didn't know what to do when you were being electrocuted… and if he _did_ know, he never had to use it in practice. Robin had. He had been subjected to that and many other forms of torture by his own mother and grandfather. He was so close to demanding to switch places with Nightwing, but Nightwing must have predicted what Robin was thinking because Robin suddenly found himself gaining eye contact with a stone cold glare of resolve that said "Dami, I swear to gosh."  
  
The Joker strolled over to a control panel on the other side of the electric chair and once again addressed the camera. "Now that we have our volunteer," he said, "it is now time to explain our game! Are you ready, Batman?"  
  
The line was silent for just a moment, long enough for Robin to worry a knife would be brought to his throat once again, but before that could happen Batman replied in a deep voice: " _Ready_."  
  
"This game," the Joker started with an excited grin, "I like to call Hide and Seek: Lightning Round!" He began to chuckle at his own horrid joke before he continued. "It is your job to find me, but every fifteen minutes you don't, mister Nightwing will get quite a shock! To demonstrate-"  
  
No one had time to yell _NO_ or anything before the Joker flipped on a switch and the electric chair hummed to life. Nightwing grasped at the arms of his chair as the Joker began to turn a dial. The LED spotlight flickered as the chair began to spark.   
  
Nightwing groaned as all of his muscles began to spasm. His tendons vibrated and his legs jolted. "For example," the Joker said over the humming of the chair, "this is what will happen after fifteen minutes! And after fifteen more…" the dial was turned just a bit clockwise, Nightwing violently jolted in his restraints, losing all control of any muscle in his body, "and fifteen more…" Nightwing looked like he was having a seizure and Red Robin was yelling something as the LED light lost power completely before weakly flickering back on, the smell of urine filled the garage and the sound of electricity was deafening, "and fifteen… well, I think you get the idea."   
  
Joker began to turn the dial counter clockwise, slowly turning the chair off. After twenty, long, agonizing seconds Nightwing collapsed against the chair, shivering as electricity continued to mess with his muscles despite the chair being off. Blood dripped down from the corner of his mouth, probably from biting his tongue... _hopefully_ from biting his tongue. Robin had to remind himself to breath as the LED regained a steady brightness, glaring into his eyes. He fought down a spike of fear when he realized that the Joker didn't stop his demonstration because Batman got the idea, but because one more click and Nightwing would die. Or worse.   
  
"Nightwing?" Red Robin was gasping. "Are you okay?"   
  
Joker snapped his head over towards the other hostages and Red Robin gasped when the back of his head was suddenly whacked by the guard from behind. "Keep the chatter down in the audience," he growled.   
  
Nightwing continued to spasm as the Joker turned back to the controls and playfully teased with the on/off switch. "Did you understand the rules, Batsy?"  
  
" _Yes_."  
  
Joker grinned. "Good, cuz I would //hate to explain it all again. Now, I have another game, after I explain this one, you will have to choose which game you want to play!"  
  
" _What is the second game_?"  
  
As the Joker began to laugh _again_ , Robin couldn't help but feel a spark of annoyance of how Batman just _moved_ on with the conversation like Nightwing hadn't just been violently electrocuted on LIVE television. Nightwing was still uncontrollably twitching his fingers and the tendons in his neck and between his legs and around his thighs were wet from Nightwing's loss of control over his own bladder. Humiliated, in agony, and Batman just moves on and doesn't say anything about it. For a moment, Robin wondered if Batman would take the chair in Robin's place like Nightwing just had. 

To Robin's side, Hood was practically shaking with rage, his eyes narrowed dangerously behind his mask towards the Joker. Robin was sure that if the tape was off his mouth, he'd be swearing loud enough for Superman to hear. Red Robin was staring at Nightwing, looking like he desperately wanted to run over and check on him.  
  
"Well," the Joker said, cutting Robin out from his thoughts, "the next game, in honor of the holiday coming up, is an Easter Egg Hunt-haha! Around the city my subordinate's have placed what I believe to be eleven-" he gave a fake questioning look over to the goon by the monitors and they held up two hands, one with a single finger up and the other with two. "Twelve! Excuse me, lost track. Twelve bombs around the city."  
  
Robin felt his blood go cold. It was a classic Joker move. Give Batman the choice to save a few hostages or save the whole city.   
  
"I don't know when the bombs are scheduled to go off, but I do know that within the next hour, all would go _kaboom_ at some point!" He began to laugh and Robin could imagine the mass panic of all the civilians who were sitting at their TV's or walking in the streets. "  
  
Suddenly, a large _bang_ exploded through the air and shook the ground. Sounds of destruction reached Robin's ears and Nightwing's eyes were wide. After a few seconds of what sounded like hellish thunder, the Joker burst into a laughing fit.   
  
"LOOKS LIKE IT _IS_ ONLY ELEVEN BOMBS NOW! HAHAHAHA!"  
  
After the Joker gained control of himself, Robin noticed that Batman was growling (his version of yelling), trying to obtain the attention of Joker.   
  
" _The bombs! Where are they_?!"   
  
"Now now, Batsy, I haven't explained all the rules yet!" The Joker chastised, shaking his hand back and forth towards one of the cameras. "First you have to choose what game you want to play! Keep in mind, both will still comence to the enjoyment of our viewers. If you choose to play Hide and Seek, I will give you a tiny hint of where in Gotham this studio is, and if you choose Easter Egg Hunt, I will tell you seven out of eleven locations of the-"  
  
" _Easter Egg, Joker_ ," Batman snarled.   
  
Nightwing seemed to relax into the chair and Robin closed his eyes. Leave it to Batman to leave the needs of the city over his own team. He didn't blame him, it was a hard decision. Didn't seem Nightwing blamed him either.   
  
"Oh, how exciting!" The Joker exclaimed happily, "I thought you would choose that one! When you finish finding all the bombs, see if you can make it back here to finish Hide and Seek!"   
  
" _The locations! Where are the bombs_!?"   
  
"Jeez," the Joker mumbled and tugged at the collar of his suit with one hand and with the other fixed his hat, "don't get too excited." He nodded over to the monitors and the grunt sitting at the set up nodded and held up their hand with their pointer finger and thumb touching.  
  
On one of the screens which Robin realized was what the audience would be seeing began to show several locations running up the screen like credits. Robin, of course, recognized every address rolling up. It was pure randomness, not a single pattern to any of the revealed bomb locations. They ranged from low end places like Crime Alley all the way up to Gotham University. God, he can already imagine the masses rushing to evacuate. It would be chaos. No where was safe… and there were still four more bombs where the location was unknown.   
  
"Have fun finding the others, Batsy," the Joker said when all the information had been given. "Let the hunt—hehehe—BEGIN!"  
  
The soundtrack of people clapping suddenly started up and the cameras began to pan side to side, showing Nightwing—who had just managed to recover and was busy glaring at the joker—and the other hostages. The guards behind each of them and the grunts around the room were clapping and bringing up fingers to their lips, whistling loudly.   
  
A click signified that Batman had hung up.   
  
"Now, while Batman goes around finding eggs," the Joker started when the noise died down. He walked closer to Nightwing and Robin could feel his muscles tensing, straining against his restraints. "We have another game to start!"  
  
He reached into his purple summer suit's pocket and pulled out a small kitchen timer. He slowly turned the dial in the middle so the little red arrow pointed at the 15 minute line, he then placed it down on Nightwing's lap. Nightwing's jaw tensed in response.

  
The Joker grinned widely and backed off and stood in the middle of all his so called contestants and addressed the closest camera. "Will Batman be able to find all the eggs? Will he be able to find Nightwing in time? Find out after the break!"  
  
He made a slicing gesture over his neck and the monitors flashed to a blue logo with a cartoonish Joker holding a clapperboard. Below read "BE BACK IN FIFTEEN".  
  
The Joker sighed dramatically and practically stumbled over to a directors chair one of the grunts had placed out. He collapsed into the chair and someone handed him a wine glass. He spun the wine around as another grunt began to powder his face.   
  
"Being a show host sure is hard work," he grumbled.   
  
Robin tightened his lips and looked over to Nightwing who was ever so slightly testing out his restraints. Robin did the same, but there was no give for either of them. He let out a silent sigh through his nose and desperately hoped Batman would find a way to save the city _and_ his family.   
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
For Robin and the other hostages, the next fifteen minutes had been silent. Filled with locked jaws and glaring eyes but nothing more. A grunt or two would try to poke fun at their unwilling participants but a simple Bat Glare would usually drive them away pretty easily. They had all decided at the same time to not play into the game and to become the most boring contestants in the world. They would never give them the satisfaction of showing weakness.   
  
The Joker, on the other hand, spent the whole of fifteen minutes practicing lines and doing vocal warm ups.   
  
The time seemed to be going by too fast. Every time Robin looked over, the little timer looked dramatically closer to zero than what it was before. It made him restless. With each passing moment he felt the need to stretch his arms and throw some kicks, but he knew that would be impossible to accomplish co considering how the tight cuffs around his wrists were starting to chafe through his gloves and the tape trapping his legs had begun to cut off circulation.   
  
Finally, one of the grunts went over to Joker, cutting him off from his _Figaro's_ and _Do-Re-Mi's_. Thankfully. The sound of Joker's singing voice was almost enough to make Batman himself wince.   
  
"What is it!?" The Joker screamed as he jumped up from his chair. The grunt looked terrified for a moment before he cleared his throat and hesitantly whispered something into Joker's ear.   
  
The Joker frowned but that was quickly turned horribly upside down when the timer on Nightwing's lap started to shrilly ring.   
  
"Cameras!" The Joker said joyfully as he pushed the grunt out of the way. "Lights!"   
  
He practically jumped over towards Nightwing and snatched the timer up. Robin could see Nightwing begin to prepare himself for the awaiting torture.   
  
The monitors flashed to life and a camera was panned right in front of the Joker and Nightwing, the timer was still ringing.   
  
"Welcome back, listeners!" The Joker said joyfully. "As you can see, fifteen minutes have passed, yet Batsy is not here, so punishment numaro uno must begin!"   
  
And just like that, the Joker walked over to the controls and flicked on a switch. Nightwing instantly tensed up as his muscles tightened and loosened on their own. He ground his teeth and unwillingly leaned back in the chair as far as the restraints would allow, which wasn't much. He could see his muscles ripple painfully. Nightwing looked like he was in agony, and it wasn't stopping.   
  
Only a few seconds passed but it felt like forever. Nightwing wasn't making a sound, but it was clear by the grip Nightwing had on the arms of the chair that he was in pain.   
  
The Joker didn't let up, he just chuckled as Nightwing jerked and the LED dimmed ever so slightly. Robin couldn't breathe, when was the Joker going to stop? Why wasn't he stopping?  
  
"Stop it!" Red Robin yelled over the electric hum of the chair. Robin whipped his head to the side as saw Red was leaning forwards as far as he could go. Hood was frantically tugging at the cuffs around his wrists and trying to work the tape off his jaw. "Stop it!"   
  
The Joker, too, shifted his gaze over to Red and he began to laugh. Agonizingly long seconds passed before he finally— _finally_ —turned the chair off. He chuckled breathlessly as Red Robin and Nightwing both collapsed into their chairs. Nightwing looked stiff like he had went on a patrol without stretching fist.   
  
"Because I'm so nice," the Joker said as he began to strut over towards Red Robin. The Joker didn't look nice though, in fact, he wasn't smiling so much anymore. Robin cursed, of course Red would get on the Joker's nerves when they were all helpless to him. "I will stop this time, but-" he reached out and grabbed Red Robin by the jaw roughly, Red—for his part—glared at the Joker even as his cheeks were pinched together abusively. Hood let out muffled curses and Nightwing weakly began to yell protests. "Next time you even squeak, I will jump up a level in the punishment? Comprende?"   
  
The Joker thankfully took Red Robins glare as an answer and roughly let go of him. Around Red Robin's cheeks, red colored bruises were already starting to form.   
  
"Dont- don't hurt them, Joker-" Nightwing gasped. He looked like he had just finished getting trampled by an elephant.   
  
The Joker's smile returned. Joker was always put in a good mood by seeing any member of the bat family helpless before him, especially Nightwing. "I won't if they behave, now- oh yeah," he turned back to face another damn camera, "I have gotten confirmation that these eggs-" on the monitor, two addresses appeared, "have been found by our very own Batman! We must return to break again, but be sure to check in for more updates!"   
  
And with that, he reset the timer and practically threw it onto Nightwing's lap.  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
"Why did you do it," Robin asked. His voice broke through the silence of the garage, Joker had left a few minutes ago for a lunch break, leaving only the hostages and a few grunts to enjoy each other's company.   
  
Robin knew the smart thing to do would be to sit there and be quiet, but the question had been nagging at him, getting stronger every time he noticed Nightwing attempting to stretch his muscles to loosen them.   
  
Nightwing wearily glanced at the guards who all seemed a little bored, but then he made eye contact with Robin.   
  
"Later," he said.   
  
To Robin's side, Red Hood made a scoffing noise. Robin scowled.   
  
"You and I both know that I am more trained to handle-"  
  
"Robin," Nightwing growled, "later."  
  
Robin shut his mouth and pressed his lips together. He was almost tempted to say "yes sir" with how serious Nightwing sounded. He used his Batman voice, one of the only voices Robin really respected.   
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
Nightwing collapsed into the chair like a marionette with cut strings. His muscles rippled and twitched. His stomach pressed in and out frantically and the LED light weakly flickered before it regained it's original brightness. The second time the Joker shocked him was so much worse. Robin could tell Nightwing was desperately trying to keep in a scream, but as the seconds ticked on, he did eventually let out a pain filled moan.   
  
The Joker loved it so much that he rewarded Nighting by turning off the machine "earlier" than what he had planned. Not a single hostage tried to fight him on it or talk back, the bruises on Red Robin's cheeks were convincing enough.  
  
As Nighting twitched and tried to control his breathing, the Joker listed off a group of bombs that had been deactivated to the camera. The grunts around them looked disappointed that nothing had gone off yet.   
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
The waiting, Robin thought, was the worst part. All there was to occupy himself was the sound of manufactured lights and the quiet humming of monitors and screens. The Joker had gone quite a while ago, seemingly also bored. Every once in awhile he'd make a comment about how he should have set the time to ten or five minutes instead of fifteen.   
  
Red Robin looked exhausted, the finger marks on his cheeks turning a purple color, making Robin wonder just how hard Joker grabbed him. Red Hood had finally gotten some of the tape off his mouth, using mouth movements and his own saliva, but he remained silent like the rest of them, with his eyebrows together like he was actually thinking of something. Nightwing kept shifting and moving his limbs as much as they could to get out the stiffness and ache, yet he looked pale.   
  
Everyone, even the Joker, was a bit bored. There had been no explosions, no talking back, no reactions. Yet, Robin knew he'd rather continue being this bored rather than hear that timer go off again. However, the timer eventually went off anyway.  
  
Seconds later, the Joker was standing at the chair controls and waving his arms dramatically as he told how there were only three bombs left, all of them were not listed. There was no way to tell where they were. The Joker laughed at that, and then flicked the switch. With a horrible humming and a spark of electricity, the LED lamp lost most of its power and Nightwing screamed.  
  
-o-o-o-o-  
  
"Where is he?" Red Robin whispered. More to himself it seemed, but Robin and his fellow heroes all heard him. Joker poked his head up but didn't seem too angry with Red speaking this time.  
  
"He's not coming," Red Hood growled back.   
  
Robin swallowed nervously and glanced over towards Nightwing who looked worse for wears. He looked like he was close to throwing up and his limbs kept twitching, if it was the after effects of electricity or just Nightwing being in too much pain to move more than a hair's breadth, Robin didn't know.   
  
"He didn't come last time, he won't this time," Hood said.  
  
"Hood," Nightwing said in gravely whisper. "Knock it off."  
  
Hood made a growling noise from the back of his throat. "How can you just sit there patiently?" He snarled. "You know how much time is left? You can't bend your neck so I'll tell you-"   
  
"Hood."  
  
"Three minutes. Three fucking minutes," Hood continued with his voice dangerously low. "'Bout as much time I had before the bomb went off. If you think Batman is getting here in time, your wrong."  
  
Nightwing glared to the best of his ability. "We'll talk about it later-"  
  
"Later?" Red Robin spoke up, his own voice quiet and disbelieving. "You might not have a later."  
  
"Batman is coming," Robin found himself speaking up. His heart was beating so hard in his chest at Red Robin's last sentence. They all knew that the next shock, the one nearing two and a half minutes, will kill Nightwing. "He has to."  
  
It fell silent between the four hostages and Robin cursed himself for saying anything. Red Hood was glaring at him and Red Robin looked surprised that Robin spoke up at all, but what hurt was the sad look that took over Nightwing's face. It seemed Robin was the only one who was still hoping Batman would come.   
  
The sound of clapping met his ears and he turned to scowl at the Joker who was sitting quite amused in his director's chair.   
  
"Wonderful performance!" He said, grinning ear to ear. He chuckled and continued to clap his hands until the other henchmen hesitantly began to join in. "Perfect for a drama series! Someone write that down…"  
  
He stopped talking when suddenly, the timer on Nightwing's lap began to ring once again, only this time it felt so much louder. The Joker's already wide grin spread further, practically taking up his entire face and wrinkling his skin horribly.   
  
"Lights!" The Joker announced happily. He looked genuinely happy instead of his normal psychotic giddiness, and Robin knew exactly why.   
  
The Joker won.  
  
Nightwing had his eyes open and his body relaxed. He wasn't one to face death kicking and screaming, preferring to go out a hero like he always had been. He would set his jaw and puff his chest and glare into the face of danger, but not before looking at each of his younger siblings in the eye first. He remained brave, even as the Joker announced that one egg still remained. Even as the Joker's hand lowered down on the killing switch.  
  
That didn't matter, Robin suddenly didn't mind doing the kicking and screaming for him.  
  
"STOP!" Robin found himself snarling. He tugged against the cuffs and felt skin break, but his heart was pounding too hard for him to take much notice of it. "Leave him alone!"   
  
He realized, that he wasn't the only one yelling. Hood and Red were too, all three of them begging to a mad man to not take the only person in the world they knew for sure really cared for each of them. Hood was screaming swear words and Red was actually calling out threats at the top of his lungs.   
  
Nightwing looked sad.   
  
The Joker sighed and waved his hand. "What do they not get about family show?" He sighed as Robin and the other's heads were all grabbed. Robin growled and turned his head back and forth desperately, but he was eventually held still long enough for someone to plaster a length of duct tape over his mouth. He screamed into the gag, and so did Red Hood and Red Robin, but it was all for naught when the Joker again began to reach towards the switch. But he stopped suddenly and grinned, leaning towards Nightwing with his nose practically poking into Nightwing's cheek. Nightwing flinched. For the first time, he actually looked afraid. Where was Batman?  
  
"Any last words?" Joker asked, smiling.  
  
For a minute, Robin didn't think Nighting would talk, but it seemed whatever words he needed to say were more important than whatever pride he was trying to keep up.   
  
"I love you guys," Nightwing… Dick was suddenly saying. His breath caught in his throat. "I love you all so, so much."  
  
The Joker burst into laughter and Nightwing gasped, instantly putting back on his strong facade. "Cheesy," the Joker said between his gasping chest heaves, "but I like it! Haha, glad I caught that on camera! What a natural born actor- Hahaha!"   
  
And then, without any warning, the Joker slammed his hand down on the controls. Lightening seemed to spark the whole room, breaking the LED lamp and plunging the garage in darkness. The only noice Robin could hear was his own screams behind the tape. God, he'd never screamed like this before. Not even when his Father died. He'd seen that as a opportunity to step up to the mantle he left behind. He'd broken bones. He'd been stabbed and tortured by his own Mother and Grandfather. He'd... He'd died, killed by a disgrace of a clone. He came back only to find out that Dick— _hi_ _s Batman_ was dead, yet all those times he'd never screamed. Strange that he was now. It was probably because he was actually watching as it happened. Watching as sparks flew and light flashed dangerously. Seeing flashes of Dick convulsing in split moments. Catching glimpses of the Joker's shadow against the far wall, laughing maniacally.

Then, as quick as the noise and the lightning came, it was gone. Moments that felt like hours ticked by and the room was plunged into jet blackness. It was silent for a moment, and then it was chaos.    
  
Robin was in a daze, confused and probably in some sort of shock, but suddenly there was the noise of fighting followed by red emergency lights illuminating a large group of squad police and GCPD cops being lead in by none other than Spoiler.    
  
Robin turned his head and saw Orphan in the middle of an intense battle with the Joker, who looked beyond pissed, but was quickly losing to the woman who was better at fighting than Batman and Robin themselves were.    
  
There was a batarang sticking through the chair's power cord and multiple sticking out from the monitors.   
  
Soon enough, Orphan was cutting Nightwing from the chair and laying him down on the ground as the Joker was dragged out in chains, laughing and gasping. Spoiler sprinted over to Red Robin and began to undue his own bindings. Paramedics were rushing into the room.    
  
Robin was holding his breath, it all happened so fast and his brain was struggling to catch up. His Mother, Grandfather, and even his Father would be disappointed in him for that, but it all was so crazy and so unexpected. So unreal that Nightwing was laying on the ground, motionless besides his muscles naturally twitching violently from the electricity.    
  
"Not breathing," Orphan whispered, and suddenly breathing was the hardest thing in the world.    
  
"No," Robin whimpered, or tried to. It just came out muffled. Yet, he whimpered and it was embarrassing but he couldn't control himself. It was too late. They were too late.    
  
Joker won.   
  
"Nononono-" he could feel tears falling down his cheeks as paramedics rushed around Nightwing's body, forcing Orphan out of the way and blocking Nightwing from Robin's view. He didn't know what they were doing. He could hear urgent talking between them. He was so panicked he didn't even feel Spoiler undoing his restraints and taking off the gag until he was throwing his body forward, with no other thought besides _he_ _had to get to him_. He had to get to his brother. "No!"   
  
Suddenly, there was a body in front of him, holding Robin back by wrapping big and strong around his body.    
  
"Let them work…" Red Hood said, dropping to his knees and bringing Robin with him.    
  
"Let go of me!" Robin screamed. He brought his fists up, fists that were bloodied from the tight cuffs digging into them, and began to pound on Hoods chest in fury. "I have to get to him! LET ME GO! I'LL KILL YOU HOOD!!"    
  
Hood didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his grip and took Robin's beating. Robin squirmed and was able to see over Hood's giant shoulder that they we're loading Nightwing onto a stretcher and rushing him outside. He couldn't tell if Nightwing was breathing or not. For a second, Robin remembered Batman's very clear no Hospital's rule. Nightwing should be taken to Leslie, where she can work with them without them worrying about their secret identities, but Robin knew in that moment, that if there was a small sliver of a chance that Nightwing could survive, it wouldn't be with Leslie. It would be with trained professionals.    
  
Civilian identity be damned.    
  
When the paramedics left the room, Robin practically collapsed into heart broken sobs. There were no one else in the room besides a broken family. Red Robin looked like he was in a daze and he slowly sat down next to Red Hood and Robin with his own wrists a bloodied mess. Orphan and Spoiler too joined them on the ground.    
  
Batman was nowhere to be found.    
  
Though, later the news will say the last bomb was found in the nick of time.    
  
-o-o-o-o-   
  
"Thank you," Nightwing said, smiling brightly to the nurse and the nurse blushed before hurrying out of the room.   
  
Hood scoffed and Tim rolled his eyes. Trust Richard Grayson to be immediately catching the hearts of women after just escaping death. Robin remained silent over in one corner of the room, studying the wires and tubes that were connected to Nightwing's body. All he had was his mask, the suit, they were told, had to be cut off him so they could work. They had it in the Hospital Director's office, safe for them to pick up when Nightwing could be discharged.    
  
Orphan was standing silently across the room with Stephanie holding her hand. It was so quiet in the rather large room. Monitors and other devices made so much noise but Robin couldn't be more grateful for them.    
  
He rubbed the bandages around his wrists and took a deep breath. He could have lost Grayson forever that day. He could be standing in a morgue instead. Before he could think more about it, his legs were moving. Nightwing gave him a curious look but Robin ignored it and began to carefully climb into the bed next to him.    
  
"Don't ever do that again," Robin growled.    
  
Nightwing chuckled but stopped with an _ow_ when Hood came and smacked him behind the head. "Okay okay, I won't do that again!"    
  
After that, Nightwing recovered rather quickly. He had burn marks around his wrists, ankles, and forehead, but treated rightly the scars should fade. Todd punched Damian's Father the moment they all returned.    
  
"Didn't even bother to visit," he snarled.   
  
Yet, in the end, Rubin understood why Batman never showed up. If he had decided to save Nightwing instead of going to diffuse bombs, so many more casualties would be written down instead of the small dozen that were lost in the first bomb. At least he sent Orphan and Spoiler to search for Nighting with the background help of Oracle.    
  
But it didn't really matter. All that mattered was Richard was breathing and currently laughing it up at his own joke at the dinner table, very much alive.   
  
That's all Damian can hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Big Brother Instinct
> 
> So I'm getting close to having all the squares requested on this series, but there is till some left! The unrequited ones are:
> 
> You can scream all you want, out numbered in a fight, kidnapping, mind rape, verbal abuse, water torture, slowly running out of air, ambush, and serum injection!
> 
> How'd you guys like this one? I had lots of fun writing it, hence why it's so effing long. I decided having Batman be emotionless would make it more exciting, because while in some versions of him, be is a fantastic father, but in others he really isn't. It was fun to explore this side of things.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know I don't reply to comment all that often, but I really do read and appreciate each and every one. :3
> 
> Until next time


	12. Big Brother Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should be Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, it's me. I'm back. Writing shameless Dick Grayson torture. Missed me?

X/Completed /// Fire/Requested /// Diamond/Next

-o-o-o-o-

Dick is screaming, writhing, begging for it to stop, begging for Bruce or Batman or someone to save him, oh God someone save him, make it stop, make it stop make it stop. Tears run down his face and his hands are constantly jerking and flexing against the velcro restraints as his fingers claw at the white blankets below him, there’s red under his fingernails from when he had tried to claw his own eyes out.

Tim can hardly stand it, it feels like his heart has been ripped out and stomped all over. It should be him. It should be Tim in that room strapped down like an insane patient while Alfred and Bruce desperately try to find a cure for Scarecrow’s newest fear toxin. That sniper was aiming towards Red Robin, not Robin, not Orphan, not Red Hood, not _Nightwing_. Towards him. It would have hit him if Nightwing hadn’t suddenly pushed Tim out of the way. Tim remembers falling to the ground, scraping his elbows and knees, and turning to see a beautifully feathered dart sticking out of Nightwing’s neck. It flashed in Tim’s mind that colorful things usually mean dangerous, poisonous, but that flew from the forefront of his mind when Nightwing stumbled and paled, eyes wide.

“F-fear toxin,” he had said.

He was fine for the first few minutes, only slightly shaking when Bruce sped in with the Batmobile. Halfway back towards the Batcave, Nightwing was panting and blinking way too much, tears were running down his face and his hands were white knuckled around his own arms. He accidentally referred to Bruce as “Tati” when Bruce asked him how he was doing and everyone knew that it was going to get worse from there. Nightwing considers Bruce a father, sure, but there is only one person who he calls that.

When they pulled into the cave, Hood and Orphan were both holding Nightwing down as he screamed and screamed and screamed, his fingers were bloodied and red, blood dripped down from his wide, terrified eyes.

“Stop!” Dick begs from the other room, his voice breaking at an octave higher than what it should be. Tim flinches and wishes, with a flash of guilt, that be could put a pair of headphones in right now. He needs to find where Scarecrow is and how he escaped Arkham without anyone noticing. Bruce has a strict no headphones in the Cave rule, that was set before Red Robin joined the cause when Jason missed the red alert one time because he was jamming out to _Panic! At The Disco_ and _Fall Out Boy_ with his cool new iPod.

So no headphones, Tim is forced to listen to Dick tear his own vocal chords out in his fear.

Tim clicks on a link, then another, and another, Dick is reduced to sobs an hour in, oddly silent after another, then back to screaming. The toxin is harsh, working randomly, gifting Dick with moments of clarity and then ripping it away by showing him Harvey Dent and a baseball bat, or Mary and John falling to their deaths, or something else that Tim can’t entirely guess. He hears a woman’s name, Dick screams about her and sobs, something about Blockbuster’s death. He struggles so hard against the restraints when he begins to wail about the Forever Evil disaster, about Luther, about a pill, about how he couldn’t breathe.

Tim wishes Bruce would just knock him out. It’s making it hard to work and it keeps pulling at the back of his head that he should be back there instead of Dick. Tim’s probably the best off from his brothers, he came and went so quickly that he hardly had time to make enemies or make a name for himself. Scarecrow was in jail most the time, Joker was uninterested in killing another Robin quite yet, Poison Ivy or Ra’s or any of the big leagues just didn’t seem to want any big moves quite yet and most of Tim’s career as Robin was spent dealing with normal people who wanted to get themselves rich in various unoriginal ideas before Damian came and he left to the Titans.

Dick’s been through it all. He’s been tortured by the hands of the Joker, he’s been beaten half to death by Two-Face, he’s been drowned and bound and kicked down and kidnapped and buried alive and so many other things that it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that Dick is back to this and Tim is happily doing his sweet detective work without a scratch on his body. It should be Tim in there, screaming about the night his parents died or that one time Tim was almost killed or when he was held in captivity after he found out he was still alive, alone and scared and hardly able to move a foot in any direction, while all his family thought he was dead and _no one_ is going to come for him.

His fingers hurt. He’s found out nothing but that Scarecrow hasn’t actually escaped from Arkham and that the toxin recipe was smuggled out to one of Scarecrows loyal henchmen. With that discovery, the Arkham doctors were informed and they gave him a slap on the wrist and moved him to a more secure cell in the prison.

And that’s it. There’s no actual recipe for the fear toxin, there’s no identity for the henchman, there’s nothing useful.

He hears movement behind him as he watches through the security cameras of the location Nightwing was shot for the fifth time in ten minutes. He doesn’t turn to look, he knows it’s Bruce back at the lab trying to figure out a cure for Dick’s fear. Dick is silent, probably going through a more lucid few minutes, giving Alfred and Bruce time to try and cure him, to take blood samples without the needle missing or asking him how he’s feeling and all of that.

There’s clinking, chemicals being mixed together in silence. How long has it been? Almost twelve hours. The sun is probably reaching its highest point in the sky. Kids are probably going to school, people to work, life beginning to make noise. They don’t know that one of their beloved heroes is living each and every one of his nightmares below Wayne Manor.

A hand falls onto Tim’s shoulder and he almost jumps out of his skin. He spins around to see Jason standing there, hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead from the recent removal of his helmet. He’s smirking slightly, and Tim wonders how anyone could be even slightly smiling at a time like this.

“What did the computer ever do to you?” Jason asks and Tim frowns.

“What?”

“You’re glaring at it like it peed in your root beer.”

“First of all, that’s a stupid thing to say, second of all, I’m not glaring.”

Jason let’s out a chuckles and there’s a small whimper from where the medical ward is. Tim takes a deep breath and turns back to the computer. The screaming should start up again soon. Bruce swears and grabs whatever he is working on and sprints to the med bay.

“Hey, stop that,” Jason says and Tim wants to groan.

“Stop what?”

“Copying me, I’m the one whose angry and annoyed all the time.”

“Shut up,” Tim growls and clicks on a new video link. He has to find the perp, find the recipe. Dick is breathing hard and Alfred is whispering comforts.

“Look,” Jason says and he walks around the chair and literally sits on the keyboard of the computer.

“Dude!”

“Listen,” Jason repeats and folds his arm across his chest. There’s a continual “f” being typed into the computer and Tim wishes Jason would just get out of the way. “You’re not the first one Dick took a hit for.”

“Get off the computer,” Tim hisses.

“He’s done it for me, he’s done it for Bruce, hell I bet he’s done it loads of time for the demon spawn. I don’t know about Cass though, but he probably has. That guy would jump in front of bullet for the dogs, Tim. So stop beating yourself up.”

Tim remains silent, he can’t find the words to say. He knows Jason is right, Dick has a… not a self sacrificing complex but a big brother complex. He thinks he should be the one to protect everyone, that he’s the oldest and therefore he has to do everything in his power to make sure everyone is okay and happy and alive, no matter the cost, even if the cost is his own life and sanity. Though, just because Jason is right doesn’t mean he’s going to rise Jason’s already high ego to tell him so.

Jason smirks anyway, taking Tim’s silence as a victory. He jumps off the computer and folds his arm across his chest, looking down at Tim and Tim glares right back. Jason’s smile only falters for a second when Dick suddenly let’s out a terrified scream.

He clears his throat as Bruce yells something and Alfred snaps something back. It’s clear that Jason is struggling just as much as Tim. Damian and Cass were both probably suffering as well, but Bruce had sent them back out into the city to look for leads. Tim remained back to do research and Jason because Bruce doesn’t trust him outside in Gotham without Dick’s or himself to supervise quite yet even though Jason, by all means, could leave right now if he wanted. Tim wonders why Jason is willingly staying.

Dick lets out a whimper, he’s starting to beg, saying _no, I’m sorry, he can’t be dead, get off me, I’m poison, I’m scared, leave him alone, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, let me go, I don’t want to die, Bruce IM SORRY_ , and Tim doesn’t know that he’s hyper focusing on those words until Jason snaps a finger in front of his eyes. Tim focuses on Jason’s face, how it’s tight and the smile is the furthest thing from loose and genuine.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Jason says and Dick’s voice breaks in the middle of another scream, “Alfred and Bruce are going to find the cure, Dick is going to calm down, Bruce and Alfred are going to give him a 30 to 45 minutes lecture, then he will let us in to see him. We will go in, and you’ll jump into Dick’s arms and tell him to never do that again and he’ll smile stupidly and say no promises.”

Tim reaches up to wipe at his eyes.

“He’ll be okay,” Jason says as Dick begs Alfred to not touch him and screams as they don’t listen, “he always is.”

-o-o-o-o-

“He wants to see you,” Bruce says and Tim feels like he’s going to melt into the chair. Finally, finally Cass and Damian found the henchman and got the recipe to the toxin (after beating the man within a half inch of his life, of course) and Bruce had finally managed to make a cure. It took an hour for Dick to stop crying out or sobbing and shaking, thirty minutes for Bruce to yell his ear off, fifteen for Alfred to give Dick that “I’m very disappointed in you” talk, and another hour for Dick to be left to rest.

All in all, it’s been almost sixteen hours since Dick was shot with the dart. Sixteen hours filled with terror and tears and helplessness.

And finally, finally Tim is allowed to go into the med bay and check to see Dick is okay with his own eyes.

Tim stands from the couch. He had been moved upstairs for dinner a few hours before while Bruce remained down in the cave to make sure Dick was stable, they have been banned going down by Alfred’s stern glare, not even Damian attempted to go back down after being caught trying to the first time.

Going down into the cave feels like Tim has been sucked into a horror movie. Doubts run in his mind and he can’t even place them. It’s just a constant anxiety mining at the top of his skull. That all flies away the moment Tim enters the med bay.

Dick’s there, and he looks close to normal. His cheeks are red and his eyes are a bit puffy but his _smile_ , his _smile_ is what makes him Dick. It’s lopsided, showing off white teeth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. No one has a smile like Dick Grayson.

“Hey buddy,” Dick says, his arms open wide, inviting, and Tim feels a pinprick of dejavu but he pushes that aside and runs into Dick’s arms. Dick laughs and embraces Tim in a strong grasp. He’s warm. Tim’s face is wet.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tim says, his voice shakes.

Dick laughs and ruffles Tim’s hair. “No promises.”


	13. Forcibly Stripped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Rohrbach probably has the most interesting partner in the entire force. The only problem with that is that she's usually dragged into some equally interesting situations whenever Blüdhaven's newest big baddy decides that Dick in on their shit list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another square crossed off! Anon requested Dick, the pretty boy cop, being made an example of by crooks, and another anon wanted it to be in an outsiders POV. Enjoy!
> 
> Note: Took liberties with canon here, by now we should all know that dc canon sucks most of the time, especially when it comes to Dick so... I reject your canon and substitute my own.
> 
> Warnings: Forced nudity (though it's non-descriptive), general whump, swears.

Not many cops in Blüdhaven can say that they came from a rich background. Even fewer can say that they belonged to a traveling circus for their entire childhood. This is why Dick Grayson is such an interesting guy because he can say both, and what's so respectable about it is that he never makes a big deal out of it. He never goes out of his way to throw names like Bruce Wayne, never tried to gain sympathy for his tragic upbringing (because once you knew Dick was raised by Bruce Wayne, you knew what happened to his birth parents). 

There are people with a fraction of the wealth who would prance around their family name at the first sign of conflict, with a not even that sad of a backstory who will tell it over and over to get sympathy. 

Not Dick Grayson. Dick would rather be his own man, the only way anyone would find out of his past was if they took the time themselves to dig into it. Otherwise, Dick lives in the moment, takes things as they come, and always does what he thinks is right. 

Nightwing is another story, but Amy Rohrbach is still pretending she doesn't know about that. 

The day today is like any other: gray, bleak, smoggy, filled with grumbling criminals coming off their latest high or groaning ravers waking up with hangovers. Most officers are also recovering from those things but corruption is corruption and Blüdhaven embraces it. 

Amy is one of the rare few walking into the office without painkillers in her system to fight off the consequences of questionable activities last night. She has some Advil in her desk, but that's for when the sheer stupidity of the people she works with gets to be too much. 

Dick is already here, which Amy has a mixture of feelings about that. The guy is pristine, and when he's told to come in at 6am, he'll come thirty minutes earlier. Most other people Amy has the pleasure of working with come in a few hours late, their excuses ranging from they saw someone doing something shady on the way to work and had to check it out, traffic, or the coffee machine was broken; in reality they were probably vomiting in the toilet and trying to convince themselves to take another sip of pickle juice or whatever people used to get rid of hangovers quickly.

Dick is the kind of person who will not only come on time, but will be there early, and she respects that because she does that too. It's what any decent person should do. But, she also knows that Nightwing was up late last night, taking out some shady trafficking at the docs. She woke up to the news coverage, and she can only wonder how much sleep Dick gets. 

Considering he came from Gotham, is apparently… and allegedly (she hasn't proven it yet) a superhero that's been in the business since his tweens, he probably doesn't get much. 

So how he can look so happy and bright on any Blüdhaven morning is beyond her. God, she wishes that he'd at least have the decency to have eye bags, the shit. She'll have to ask him about his skin care routine because she's still getting acne the moment she even looks at a doughnut and she's seen Dick swallow a whole cake slice before and his skin is still silky smooth. What a bastard.

She needs coffee. And sunglasses. It's too early for Dick's bright and perfect happiness.

"Good morning, Amy!" Dick says, sitting himself down next to her with a coffee in each hand. Starbucks. Not from the office. Curse him for being so thoughtful. Of course he is. He's from Gotham. Anyone from Gotham looks kind and carefree while in Blüdhaven. "I got this for you, your favorite if I remember correctly."

He hands her one of the cups and she glares only slightly his way. Stupid Dick and his stupid coffee.

She takes a sip and immediately almost sinks into her chair. Caramel and creamy. She used to drink straight black but then Grayson came into her life and… well. Brightness, happiness, smiles, waves, puppies, rainbows, yada yada yada, all of that shit nonsense.

"I was thinking we could work on the Trisha Meyers case," Dick continues after she takes a couple more sips. She glances above her cup and lifts an eyebrow. 

"That's a cold case, been cold for months, Dick," she says. 

Dick shrugs and sets his own coffee down on the desk. She isn't sure what kind he likes, it's different every time she asks. 

"With the round up Nightwing did last night, we might have a few leads," he says, casually, as if he wasn't talking about himself. It's frustrating knowing your rookie partner is actually a vigilante, she kind of wants to slap him for putting her through this, even if he doesn't know it yet.

Woah. She's never thought about that. This guy has been working with _Batman_ for most of his life and he doesn't know she knows. Or… maybe he did know but he's pretending not to know that she knows that- she quickly takes another sip of coffee. Bastard.

"It's still cold, there's no evidence that she was taken by traffickers."

"It doesn't hurt to ask, right? Are the perps being held here?" 

"Before you two go off on another case," a third voice interrupts and Amy sighs as Dick smiles and looks over towards the captain. "I need a word."

"Mornin', Captain Johnson," Dick greets happily. Amy simply nods her head and looks down at her desk. "What can we do ya for?"

Captain Johnson's lips thin at Dick's greeting but instead of scolding him for being way too chipper on a Blüdhaven morning like Amy is about to do, she forces a smile and looks down at the rookie like she's actually happy to be here.

She's not. No one is. Except Dick apparently. 

"Grayson," the captain greets, "you're familiar with Elliot Cancio, correct?"

Amy feels her blood run cold as she watches Dick's eyebrows come together. Of course Dick knows Elliot Cancio, everyone does, he's one of the biggest names in the Cancio family, a group of mafia that has bloomed like poisonous algae in the past year. Elliot is not the leader of the family, but he's up there, up enough that it's generally known by everyone to not mess with him unless you want your whole life destroyed and your body to be found in the flooded district of Blüdhaven a month later. 

Why is the captain throwing his name around?

"Yes ma'am," Dick replies and Amy is relieved to hear a bit of caution in his voice. Even Dick knows that the big names in the mafia are off limits, off limits until the mayor's chair is free of corruption and the police department is no longer under their thumb. 

"He turned himself in last night," the captain says, casually, her voice deadly calm, so calm that Amy can't help but tense. No mafia member would just turn themselves in… let alone a Cancio. "He wants to confess, but he insists he'll only talk to you."

Bad sign. Back out now, Dick. There's a feeling of dread pooling in her stomach and it's showing only slightly on Dick's face. His expression is open, surprised, but she can see how his eyebrows are sliding closer together, she can see his jaw twitching like he's fighting the urge to grind. 

"Really?" Dick asks, and god, Amy can practically see the gears turning in his head. There's a lot of stuff Amy has noticed about him since he showed up, since she put two and two together and realized the not-so-caped crusader was her rookie partner. Knowing who he really is, it's opened doors for her to read her partner better, when before she always thought his surface expressions were the real ones, but in reality there are so many layers, so many she's still figuring them out. But now, now she can read him clearly. He's wondering what the hell is going on. 

"Yes, so if you're already familiar with him, we'll save the paper work and have you go right in. We're going to have a couple other rookies follow you to see first hand how confessions work."

"Yeah, because that's normal here," Amy says before she can think of it, "confessions. Even more so from a known mafia member."

"Allegedly," the captain corrects coldly, until she plasters on a fake grin and turns towards Dick. "That is until you get the truth out of him."

Amy doesn't like this. She doesn't like this at all. There's something more in play here. There has to be. The Cancio family is so rooted and comfortable in Blüdhaven, they own half the strip and it's casinos, making easy gains and grabs when Blockbuster was killed (Jesus, once Amy corners Dick she will find out what happened that night). There's no reason any Cancio would feel the need to turn a leaf when the leaf they're sitting on is gold plated. 

That, and, by chance, if Elliot really wanted to confess anything, he wouldn't have made it within a mile of the precinct. His grandfather and his henchmen would have made sure of it. The body would be found floating in the harbor if it was found at all. 

There's something smelly going on here, and by the looks of it, Dick is at the center. 

Jesus Christ and Mary above why did she get stuck with the ultimate good guy from happy town Gotham? Couldn't she have just gotten some kid straight out of Blüdhaven Juvie like everyone else? 

But _nooooo_. She got good guy Dick from happy town Gotham and now she's stuck with him until he gets himself killed. Well, it would be just her luck if she gets brought down with him. Only she would be stuck with a rookie vigilante until death. 

However, from the sounds of it, it's not she this time getting dragged down with him… it's other rookies. 

Something's going on. Decline Dick. Get out of it. Just this once, save your own skin. 

"You can count on me, Cap," Dick says, grinning, even mock saluting. Any evidence of concern or caution one his face is gone, like he's made a decision, and Amy is the first to know that once Dick makes a decision, he's not backing out of it. 

Dear lord. Maybe this is what Batman had to deal with. (Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne??? She never even _thought_ …)

"It's very much appreciated, Dick," the captain says. "Luckily, detectives Hogan, Rodriguez, and Payne are already here, so we can begin right away. Just gather them up if you will, Grayson."

Dick nods and stands up, shooting a smile Amy's way and she can't help but tense even further. Dick knows something, he's willingly walking into a trap. Dick nods at the captain before heading over to one of the rookies listed who's trying to figure out the coffee machine. Amy goes to stand up, wanting to follow him and tell him to forget it just this once, _just this once_ keep his nose out of it, but she's stopped by a hand hand to her shoulder. 

"Let Grayson handle this, Rohrbach," the captain says. Amy glares at get and shoves off the hand. The captain's expression has done a 180, her fake smile turning into a sad frown. Amy knows the captain isn't the best of people, sometimes doing corrupt things just because she could instead of being told, but deep down she cares about people. She's more about personal gain than harming others. "For once, let Grayson take all the responsibility."

"What are they going to do to him in there," Amy snarls under her breath, watching past the captain's shoulder to see Dick greet the third rookie and pat another one on the back. They all turn to head towards the interrogation room where something bad is surely waiting for them. 

"He's going to question-"

"What is really gonna happen, captain?" She shifts her focus back onto the captain, giving her sharpest glare, and according to Dick she has a pretty mean glare.

The captain seems to fight an internal battle for a moment before she sighs, her shoulders falling. She lowers her voice so it's barely above a whisper. "There's nothing I can do. Grayson has been barking up the wrong trees recently."

"They're going to kill him…"

"No," the captain says, shaking her head, "just… teach a lesson. He'll be fine."

They're going to humiliate him.. injure him… in front of the newbies so they know not to step out of place like Dick has been. Amy has told him time and time again to not pick up the cases the department has worked hard to make cold, that has been made cold because the mafia told them so. Hell, Trisha Meyers is one of those cases and Dick just tried to convince her to open it up. 

She takes a breath and pushes past the captain. 

"Rohrbach," the captain calls behind her, her voice sounding pathetically worried as if she had no choice but to send Dick to the hands of angry mafia members, "let Dick take responsibility, you don't need to get yourself involved!"

Amy clenches her jaw and rolls up her jacket sleeves. "He's my partner, ma'am," she growls, heading to the hallway where Dick has disappeared a few minutes before, "he's my responsibility."

-o-o-o-o-

Walking to the interrogation room is like walking to the gallows. The hallways are empty, the lighting is dim, each camera she passes is lifeless, no simple red or green dot there to assure her that whatever is going on, that it will be watched. 

Damn Dick for making her willingly come back to him, to willingly jump into the mess he's been busy making until mommy and daddy mafia got angry. Curse him. She should just turn around, she should just let Dick take this because he's an idiot and this all could have been avoided if he followed her simple hints and the captain's commands to _not_ get involved. 

Curse him. To hell with him. Screw that guy. Next time she sees him she'll kill him herself. 

There's two doors at the end of the hallway, one for the interrogation room and one for the observation room, one man guarding them both. He's in uniform, but she doesn't recognize him, and as she gets closer the bridge of her nose instinctively wrinkles up because of the rancid smell of drugs wafting off him. She can't pinpoint a single drug, there's multiple scents, mixing together like a cocktail from hell.

The man—must be some sort of mafia lackie or something—lifts an eyebrow as she approaches and a shiver runs down her spine as recognition flashes in his eyes and a grin spreads across his poorly shaven face. "We were wondering if you'd show up," he says, his voice raspy and high and it pissed Amy off. 

"Well, I'm here, so let me in."

"Why in such a rush?" The man chuckles, his grin widening. If he lived in a different city, his face could compete with that Joker creep. "That annoyed with your partner you want to watch what they do to 'em??" 

"Just let me in or get out of my way," Amy says, beginning to seethe. The nerve of this asshole. 

The man only laughs and grabs at the ring of keys on his belt. "Well, have fun," he says, shoving a key into the door lock. He turns it and puts his hand on the handle, "I think they've just started."

Amy glares at him one last time before she shoves herself past him, ignoring how he's staring at her, and takes no more than two steps into the room before she stops in her tracks. 

Interesting. So Elliot Cancio is here. So is a few other mafia members, but if Elliot Cancio actually came himself, they must be pissed with Dick.

And really, she doesn't need to guess how pissed they are, it's proof of it by the way one has Dick's arms locked behind his back in a restraining hold, one hand keeping his arms immobile and the other rubbing his face on the surface below him, forcing Dick to bend over the table. 

Something red and angry fills her veins at the sight, and she almost steps forward again to show these assholes what she thinks of them with her firsts until she notices the guns and the other rookies standing nervously against the opposite wall as they're being patted down and relieved of their tools. They're staring at her with wide eyes, even Dick stills his struggling to give her a strained confused look from the angle he's stuck in, like he's baffled that she would come here. 

She's baffled too. It's not like she can do anything here. Not with Elliot Cancio standing right over there and his four lackies backing him up. If anything, her being here just make it harder _for_ Dick. 

But she couldn't just save her own skin either. She has to be here for her partner. She would never forgive herself if she had stayed at her desk, even if Dick is a complete knucklehead mcspazatron. 

"Detective Rohrbach!" Elliot calls, his grin widening as the door shuts and locks behind her. Well. No going back now. She looks over at him and levels him with a glare, but his smile doesn't falter, if fact it just grows and he shifts from leaning against the wall lazily to walking towards her, his hand outstretched. "Nice of you to join us this fine morning. How are you?"

Amy hates this guy already. Elliot is the kind of guy who's only in charge of something because he's part of the bosses family. He's like that CEO's son who keeps messing things up but everyone is forced to endure him because if they complain about him, they'll get the boss angry. Elliot has no backbone, choosing to do things when there's an army on his side around him, or just have his army do it. Otherwise, he'd rather lay low and save his own skin. 

If Enzo Cancio, Elliot's grandfather, had come, he would have come alone. He has the balls.

Elliot is just a tool whose given some power and now he thinks he owns the world, when in reality his whole position is hanging in the balance of his grandfather tolerating him.

She gives him and unimpressed look and folds her arms across her body, denying the handshake and Elliot's smile falls slightly. Dick lets out a snicker that could be mistaken for a grunt, easily distinguished if one had experience staking out in a car for hours on end to recognize it, which she has. Multiple times. Glad at least _he's_ enjoying himself. 

Elliot forces back on his smile and runs a hand casually through his thinning hair. "Well, why don't you let one of my friends take care of you, we were just beginning, but we can delay a few minutes for you."

Immediately, Amy feels hands fall on her shoulders from one of the gunmen and she instantly tenses. She has to chant in her head to not spin around and punch his junk so hard they end up in his mouth, over and over, as his hands slid down and take her gun and cuffs, patting her down for everything else. 

He walks in front of her and is about to pat down her front end, but she grabs his wrist and glares. "Don't even think of it," she growls. 

The lackie swallows and Elliot laughs. "Treat the lady with some respect!" 

It's too early in the morning to plan how to get away with the murder of another human being. Too early. Not enough coffee. 

The lackie puts his hand back onto her shoulder and next thing she knows she's being led over to the other three rookies. She forces herself to relax against the wall, not letting Elliot see how nervous she is, and chooses to glance up at the corner of the room instead. 

The camera is dark. Of course it is. 

Her attention is brought back to Elliot as he begins to speak. He's back to leaning against the wall, smirking like he's already won. Dick is still pressed against the table, his arms shaking from the strain. If that man pulls his arms back any more, he might just dislocate the shoulders. But for now, Elliot seems to be more interested in herself and the others than in Dick, which has to be a good sign… right?

Knowing her luck, it's the worst sign.

"Tell me," Elliot started, "what is the first priority of a cop?" He waves his hands out, bouncing his back off from the wall and stepping towards the others. "Anyone?" 

God he reminds Amy of that one evil dude on Iron Man 2. Not the Russian one, but the annoying blonde one.

Hogan clears his throat and Rodriguez gives him a sideways glance like she can't believe he's actually going to answer the question. Amy can't either. Hogan is a coward, afraid of everything that pops out at him, so much so that she's surprised he even made it to a precinct, but she supposes he's always had a "good guy" heart. "P- to pro-protect the people…" he says, "sir." He adds on the last part quickly like if he doesn't acknowledge Elliot's position of power he'd get shot on the spot.

Considering, if Elliot's ego was a physical thing you could jump from you'd break every bone in your body while landing, he probably would shoot Hogan.

"That's correct!" Elliot announced, pointing at Hogan like he's won the lottery. Hogan's shoulders dropped slightly with a relieved release of air, but all the color drained from his face when Elliot continued. "Or, it would be correct, if you were in _any_ other city. Here? The city runs on a different set of rules." He steps forward and Amy can feel herself tensing as he ends upright next to where Dick is still being smothered into the metal table. "Here, it's no secret that the mobs are the ones who run the city, and it's your first priority to aid them, or specifically, my _family_ , in our goal to better the city. It's your job to help us, so we can do the rest."

Yes, because helping the city involves hundreds of casinos with underground strip clubs and human trafficking. Because helping the city means to make sure everyone has their fair share of heroin and cocaine and enough needles to get that stuff in them. Helping the city is killing anyone who wants to do some good. Helping the city is clogging the sky with smog, the streets with litter, and making the homeless live in it, only gaining money to buy their next fix. The city is dying, it's ran on oppression and greed, but it will definitely, one hundred percent, fix the city. 

"And some of you don't know that," Elliot continued, bringing his hand down right next to Dick's face. Dick doesn't react, but she can see the way his muscles tense ever so slightly before he forces them to relax. He does that a lot, like he's holding back a beast trained to fight. "and for some of you, it was just because you weren't taught, you came into the precinct and you just got to work, which is good! It makes you a good person, and if that's you, then we'll just need to teach you. But some of you don't know because you purposely forgot."

His voice lowers and Amy notices Rodriguez tense dangerously, heaven please make Dick be the only impulsive one in the room, Amy doesn't think she'll be able to sit back and watch if an innocent rookie got angry and got herself killed. Hogan is green, so she doesn't have to worry about him. Payne looks bored.

"Some of you were taught, but you thought you could be a hero and," he puts his fingers up like bunny ears "cleanse the city, so you purposely forgot about what's most important about being a cop in Blüdhaven. I'm here today to make sure all of you understand this from now on, and what better way than to make an example? Everyone, we're all familiar with Dick Grayson here, am I right?" 

He puts his hand down on Dick's straining shoulder and Dick clenches his jaw and shifts his legs like that would relieve the tension building inside of him. 

"Good guy, _detective Dick Grayson_. Closed more cases this month than what everyone else closed in the past half year. Everyone looks up to him, he's nice," his hand slowly clenches around Dick's shoulder and Amy winces, knowing what will happen and how she's completely powerless to stop it, "kind, smart, a fantastic detective, and everyone can admit that he's probably the prettiest in this room."

_Pop_.

Dick grunts as his shoulder is suddenly pulled out from it's socket and let's out a yell through clenched teeth, Amy forces her arms around her chest, nails digging into her arms. He can handle this, she chants to herself, he can handle this. He's Nightwing, and he knew what he was walking into. He knows what he's doing. He didn't come here with no plan.

God, please let him have a plan, because with how smart Dick is, he can sometimes be a complete and utter shithead.

"But it's no secret that he has a good guy complex," Elliot continues on, lifting his hands and brushing them together like he's congratulating himself for dislocating a shoulder already a hair's breadth from dislocating on its own, "and because of exactly that, he's a constant thorn in our side. My grandfather wants him to be an example to you; of what will happen if any of you even think about standing in our way from here on. I wanted to kill him," he looks down at Dick with narrowed and hungry eyes, "but, my grandfather wanted me to remind you all that there are some things worse than death, some things that make you wish you were dead."

He backs up and nods his head, the grunt pinning Dick down suddenly drags Dick upwards and slams him against the wall. Amy winces in sympathy as his bad shoulder is knocked against the wall, but Dick doesn't even flinch, either because he's super good at hiding pain or it's numb already. 

"Strip."

A word she didn't expect. She expected the lackies to be upon him, kicking him and punching his brains out, she didn't expect this, and for a second she thinks it's a joke, but Elliot's face is calm, cool, collected, not a hit of joking nature. Even Dick looks somewhat shocked. 

"What?" Payne asks, the first thing he's done besides stand there looking bored. His mouth is wide open stupidly, a red blush rising to his cheeks. Amy doesn't know what his deal is, he isn't that high on her radar for her to pay attention to him, so she has no clue what's running through his head.

"Strip," Elliot says a second time, looking impatient. A gunman behind Elliot rises his weapon ever so slightly.

Dick stares at him for a moment, a very long yet short moment, his hand clutching at his injured shoulder, before he swallows and he removed his hand from his shoulder and works towards the collar of his buttoned up shirt. 

"Dick-" Amy starts, panic making her hands tremble, but she stops when Dick gives her a look, one that's indecipherable, she can't tell if it's his own panic, braveness, acceptance, determination… but it makes her snap her jaw shut. He's got this, the look says, he's freaking out a little bit, but he's got this.

Or that's what Amy hopes that look is saying. 

Dick struggles to get the buttons of his shirt undone, and Elliot finally loses his patience around the third button, Dick's almost got it loose with his one hand before Elliot jerks his head over to Dick, glaring at the lackie that had been previously pinning Dick down. The lackie doesn't waste a second before he roughly grabs grabs onto Dick's shirt and tears it apart. Amy resists the urge to flinch when a button hits her shoulder. She can hear a hiccup next to her… Hogan. 

"Hey!" Elliot suddenly yells and Rodriguez jumps. She's been looking away, downwards. "Watch. There's no point in a lesson if you don't pay attention."

Dick's shirt is roughly jerked off of him, jostling his bad shoulder. No matter how numb it is, with those kind of uncaring movements as the lackie relieves him of his shirt and then his undershirt… be must feel it, if the tightness to his brow is anything to go by at least. He's shirtless now, and Amy can feel her heart jump when the lackie instantly moves down to the button of his pants, because holy shit this is happening and she's just standing there and _what are they going to do to him?!_

Dick actually stumbles backwards the moment the gunman's hands get too close to the front of his pants, and for a second she can see real fear in his eyes, like he's realizing how real this is too. Hogan is full on sobbing now and Rodriguez is swearing under her breath, Payne isn't making any noise but after a quick glance sideways she can see how red his face and neck are, his eyes wide but twitching side to side, like he wants to watch but he knows that this isn't something any decent person would want to watch. 

If they survive this, Amy's going to punch his throat so hard his grandchildren will be mute.

But that doesn't matter right now, what matters is that Dick is holding up his good hand, breathing hard, eyes dilating, and Amy wonders where he thinks he is before he squeezes his eyes shut for just a second, then opens them, every ounce of his expression brimming with determination.

"I'll do it myself," Dick growls, and she can hear it, she can _hear_ Batman in him, and it scares her because she's never _heard_ Batman before, but this certainly isn't Nightwing. "At least give me-"

His determination seems to shatter when the first gunman and another both grab onto him and all agency is taken from him when one grabs his bare arms and pins Dick against his chest. Dick snarls and kicks out a leg at an angle Amy doesn't think is possible on any other human and hits the man in front of him right in the face, and she only has a second to mentally celebrate that the man now missing a few teeth was the one who patted her down before a third gunman runs forward, helping the other grab at Dick's hips.

Amy can feel her nails break skin on her arms the moment Dick's trousers are forced down. She desperately wants to run forward and help Dick, but she knows that will just get them both killed. The best she can do is be here for him, even as the one pinning his arms lifts him up slightly so they can get the pants off his legs. 

She looks him straight in their eyes when the unthinkable happens, when his undergarments are pulled down and off too. 

He's close to hyperventilating, and she can see that he's desperately trying to get ahold of himself, and she focuses on that, not on the rookies, the gunmen, Elliot, just Dick struggling to keep his sanity as he's stripped bare in front of his coworkers and enemies alike, as he's shoved to the ground, naked, vulnerable, with his arms being cuffed behind his back and another pair of handcuffs closing around his ankles. 

Then, his eyes meet hers, and she can see shame in them, and she wonders why. There's nothing for him to be ashamed of. And she almost forgot that other people were in the room until Dick screams out as a booted foot stomps on his bad shoulder and grinds. 

Elliot looks so damn proud of himself. Amy's going to fucking kill him. 

She looks up and gives the bastard her best glare. 

"This is just a taste of what you can look forward to when you become a thorn in our sides," Elliot says, pressing down harder and Dick writhes slightly, moaning. "You-" he says, pointing just left of Amy, at Hogan, "come here. And you better stop crying and do it quickly unless you want to end up like Dickhead here."

Dick grinds his teeth as the boot presses down even harder. God, his shoulder is going to definitely not be in the best shape after this… if there's an "after this".

Hogan stumbles forward, his cheeks red with tear tracks and he stops right in front of Elliot, his eyes flicking towards Dick on the ground with fear and pity. He jumps slightly when Elliot finally gets off Dick and grabs Hogan by the collar.

"What is your first priority right now, officer?"

Elliot hiccups, and it takes him a moment to answer. "T-to help you, sir…"

"Good. Looks like I've gotten through to you." Elliot smirks. "Now, let's put you to the test, huh? Kick him."

"Wha-"

"Kick him!"

Hogan flinches at the raised voice and looks down at Dick with panic. He looks at Elliot, then back down, squeezes his eyes, and Amy can hardly contain her flinch when Dick cries out, a foot slamming into his ribs. 

"You call that a kick?" Elliot snarls, " _Nonnina_ can hit harder than that! Again!" 

_Slam_.

"Harder!"

_Slam_.

"HARDER!"

_Slam_. **_SNAP_**.

Dick screams out, panting as Hogan stumbles backwards, holding his stomach like he's going to throw up. 

"You-" Elliot says again as he points at Rodriguez, "your turn."

Rodriguez walks forward with her jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. She puts her hand on Hogan's shoulder and gently pushes him back, and Amy watches as she glances down at Dick, takes a deep breath, and kicks him onto his stomach to completely wind him. She kicked as hard as she could… the first time, giving him the most mercy she could, but it still leaves Dick spasming for air, curling up onto his good side.

Payne is next, and he at least has the decency to look a little hesitant before he slams his own booted foot onto Dick's chest. Dick doesn't have enough air from Rodriguez's attack to his stomach to make much of a noise when a second rib audibly snaps. 

Amy almost forgets that she's in the room until Elliot waves her forward, and she moves towards Dick—whose curled up, legs bending to his stomach, and gasping to try and fill his lungs with air. Elliot tells her to kick him, something dangerous in his voice now, and of course there is. She's Dick's partner, and she's just seen him stripped, humiliated, and beaten by the people who should have his back. She can already see bruises forming around his chest and stomach, the way his bare chest looks some ribs are definitely broken, his bad shoulder is thankfully not the one he's laying on, but it's jutting out at a very bad angle, there's green forming on his cheek and temple from when his face was probably slammed into the table. She's his partner. She's his partner and she should be doing everything in her power to get Dick out of this; instead she's being told to beat him down even further, the ultimate punishment: proving that the one person who should always be on his side would betray him if told to. 

For a foolish, stupidly brave moment, she wants to turn away from the man on the floor and punch Elliot right across his face, but then _oh yeah they have guns._ If she does that, she'll be killed, Dick will be killed, the other rookies too maybe. So instead, she looks down at her partner and thinks where would the least painful place to kick him be? A question she never thought to ask herself, especially if it concerns Dick, but now she's asking it over and over because she doesn't know. She was taught the most painful places to hit, the eyes, the groin, the neck, places that can definitely take down a person with a well placed hit. The stomach maybe? His abs are built like a castle, and the most she'd do is probably make the forming bruise already there a little bigger, wind him a whole lot. The legs? The thigh is one of the strongest bones in the body but also apparently comparable to childbirth with it's pain level when broken. Where? Where would hurt him the least?!

Elliot tells her to hurry up, and she looks at him, and all her plans fly out the window. Not only does he look impatient, but he's also looking at her with narrowed, studying eyes that he hadn't been with the others. He's wondering where she's going to kick too, and if this were a betting pool she'd place hers on the prediction that if she kicks, and she doesn't kick to hurt, she'll either be asked to kick again or deemed untrustworthy right there. 

Shit.

Dick's looking up at her, and she wants to scream at him because there's already forgiveness in his eyes, and she doesn't want it damn it, not when she hasn't done anything yet. 

Before she could give her conscious enough time to stop her, she lifts her leg up and kicks viciously right at Dick's face. 

He's thrown over onto his back, his nose shattered and blood spouting from his nostrils, and she looks away and gives Elliot a cool glare before she could really think about how she did that to him, how she betrayed him. Fuck this. Fuck everything. 

Fuck.

"Well done," Elliot says, and he has the audacity to step over Dick—whose blinking as if his brain is struggling to fully recognize that he's been kicked in the face—and lift his hand to give Amy a pat on the back. She can't resist her tense but Elliot doesn't seem to notice. "Lesson well learnt, congratulations, you all pass."

Her brain is so loud. So angry. So everywhere that she hardly notices when Elliot tells them that from now on they're only to work the cases given to him, tells them the cover story that a rouge criminal beat up Dick and that the cameras malfunctioned due to the thunderstorm rolling in. There's no thunderstorm, but the mayor's office won't bother to care. Then, Elliot and his gunmen leave the room, probably to easily leave the precinct with eyes turned away, no movements to stop them. 

It's quiet, and she hardly notices the others are still in the room until the sound of Hogan losing his breakfast in a nearby bin reaches her ears. 

She can't stop her body now, she's sick and tired of holding back, so very much so that she can't do a single thing to stop her fist rising and slamming into Payne's cheek, sending him stumbling away so his back slams into the wall. He looks at her with wide, surprised, and angry eyes, rubbing his cheek, but she doesn't let that waver her voice when she whispers deep and quiet. 

"Get the fuck out."

And they do. All three of them. Payne practically stomps out, Rodriguez gives her a sad glance before she puts her hand on Hogan's back and helps him up. With a click of the door, she's alone, nothing but the sound of her partner struggling to breathe behind her. 

Shit.

She spins around and grabs Dick's discarded shirt on the ground and throws it onto his lap and then reaches onto her belt to pull out the keys to the cuffs that the stupid lug that searched her thankfully hadn't taken. 

He's still curled up on his side again, and the way he's panting, clenching and unclenching his fists behind his back, she should have known he would react badly if she approaches from behind, but she isn't thinking, and she comes from behind anyway. She just barely has enough time to stumble backwards out of the way of his legs that are now swinging at her in panicked defense. She's seen crooks with broken bones in this very interrogation room because of Nightwing's kicks, she's always hoped she'd never be on the receiving end of them. 

Thankfully, she's lucky this time, and she hates to consider it that because "lucky" in this case is that Dick is too exhausted, hurt, and scared to even have a chance at hitting her properly. 

"It's me, Dick," she says, "I'm not going to hurt you… just get the cuffs off you, yeah?"

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't make any moves to attack her when she slowly bends down next to him, intentionally keeping her movements open and un-threatening, and within seconds, Dick is free. He bends one knee, separating his ankles further apart than what they've been in what felt like hours but was probably not even thirty minutes. He doesn't move his arms, probably because any upper body movement is destined to rustle his dislocated shoulder.

Though, he does release a rather relieved breath, which she takes as a good sign. 

Now, speaking of his injured shoulder…

"I'm going to see if I can set your shoulder… okay?"

She doesn't want to touch him any more than what he's comfortable with at the moment. She's been trained to set dislocated limbs, hell, with Dick around she's even had practice, but if he doesn't want to be touched anymore, she will give him space and call an ambulance for them to deal with it instead. 

Maybe she should call an ambulance anyway… with his ribs and the worrying farness to his eyes, she fears he might have to have some professional treatment. 

Thankfully, he doesn't go on the defensive when she grabs his arm. "This is going to hurt," she tells him, and all he does to reply is tighten his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. 

It takes a couple seconds, and there's a sucking, wet sounding pop and Dick's arm is now officially connected back to his body. Hooray.

He grunts, and she slowly moves away as he begins to shift himself up, his muscles ripple with strain. Yup, the snapping noises his chest made when he was kicked wasn't just for show, parts of his chest look physically broken, not something one can just slap a bag of ice onto, take a few ibuprofens and call it a day. They need to be set. She looks up at his face and there's blood everywhere, the bone on his nose needs to be set too, and soon. 

She did that.

She shakes her head. Guilt later. Help first.

She moves towards him like he's a cornered animal, and all he does is blink heavily towards her. He's definitely having trouble focusing. Shit, maybe she gave him a concussion too.

Ambulance it is. 

She pulls out her phone but before she can even unlock it, a hand falls onto her own and pries it down. She looks up, and Dick is staring somewhat directly at her. His left eye seems to want to drift at the moment. Bad sign. Bad sign. Bad sign. 

Yet, he's looking at her directly enough to suggest that she should keep quiet.

"Did you…" he starts, his words slurring slightly, "you… had a choice in coming… didn't you?"

She looks down, shame weighing her shoulders down like a loaded bag. "Yes. I didn't… have to come."

Her eyes trail over to his chest, and the sight of jagged, pale, long ago since healed scars fills her vision. They're everywhere. She wonders how he got them all, but then one that looks vaguely like a "J" catches her eye, too clean to be accidental; clearly Dick has been used in a lesson before... for Batman... for Bruce Wayne... she suddenly feels sick to her stomach.

Dick's hand is still on hers, and she looks back at him when he squeezes her fingers slightly. She may as well look him in the eye as he yells at him. What's throwing her off is that he doesn't look angry, only curious… for the moment.

"Why did you come then?" 

She opens her mouth and shuts it again. Sighing, she looks down at his hand intertwined with hers. "I… I didn't want you to be alone. Dick… I'm sorry."

Dick sighs and leans his head back against the metal table behind him. 

Then he says something that surprises her.

"Thank you."

-o-o-o-o-

She's nervous. It's only been a few hours, and it isn't like Dick had just gotten out of major surgery, she's just in her car waiting for the hospital staff to bring him out. 

But she's nervous.

It's raining. Of course it is. The weather didn't call for rain but it seems mother nature liked to do whatever the hell it wanted. 

She's here to pick him up because Dick doesn't seem to have any family or close friends living in the city and the doctors would like him to be driven, insisting that he's not in the best condition to do so himself for at least a couple more days. Plus, he's apparently on a bunch of medication that could kick in and make him drowsy within the next few hours. 

A slight rumble of thunder fills the air and the drops get slightly bigger on her windshield, and finally Dick walks out, struggling to quickly fold what looks like a prescription paper into the pockets of his pants. There's a bandage on his nose, and he's walking a bit stiffly, but otherwise it almost looks like he wasn't just brutally beaten a few hours ago. She releases the breath she's been holding and turns down the radio, unlocking the car.

Dick opens the door and settles down in the passenger seat.

"It's pouring, isn't it?" He says happily. There's a slight tightness to his voice that comes with broken ribs.

Amy hums in agreement as she turns the ignition and begins to drive out of the pickup area of the hospital. It takes a few minutes to get onto the highway, and a little longer before she's maneuvering traffic in a city that doesn't bother to stay indoors even while it's storming. Dick had turned up the radio a little while ago and is now tapping on his phone, making a comment here and there about the traffic being stupid or about something funny one of his siblings did. Her responses range between humming and grunting, but Dick plows on, almost like nothing had even happened.

She's not much in a talking mood, and she doesn't have a scratch on her. By the time she pulls up in front of Dick's apartment complex, she realizes her forehead hurts from her eyebrows being drawn together for so long. Dick is thanking her, letting her know that he'll be back to work in just a few days and telling her not to get another partner while he's recovering. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel and he moves to open the door, but before he can she talks without even thinking about it. 

"Wait."

Dick stops, and he turns to look at her with one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath. Might as well just get it over with. "You asked me why I went there," she says, and Dick nods with a slight stupid smile, "why did you?"

It's amazing how casual he looks as he folds his arms across his chest, but then he quickly puts his hands back down onto his knees like _oh yeah that hurts_. His face is open, thoughtful even. 

"I didn't know it would happen-"

"Bullshit."

Dick laughs and then cuts himself off with a choked noise because _OH YEAH THAT HURTS_. "Okay, okay, I didn't know _that_ would happen, but… this will get us off the bad guy's radar for a little while, it will also make the others less of a target, it will give me more time to find a way to take them down once and for all."

"Is that Dick talking? Or Nightwing?" 

She blurts it without even thinking, and she's about to panic because _oh my god_ does Dick need to kill her now?!?!

But that doesn't happen, Dick just bursts into laughter, a kind of chaotic laughter one does when someone else says something stupid and you want to laugh but ouch. She glares at him and he's even wiping a fake tear from his eye. "Both, I guess," he says, grinning stupidly because of course he knew. 

"From the first day I met you," Amy growls, "I promised myself I would never call you this, but you leave me no choice. You're a dick, you know that?"

Dick just grins wider at her. "You know you love me."

"I don't. I'm also a taken woman. Now get the hell out of my car."

Dick has the complete audacity to laugh again.

Stupid, sunshiney, _shithead._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long when i said it wouldn't! I decided I disliked most of everything I had so I scrapped it all and did it again, and let me tell you I like this version better.
> 
> Next Time: Surrender with Dick as Batman!!! ooooh some Dick and Damian angst coming up............ >:D
> 
> (hopefully the next one wont take months to come out, I'm trying to more equally balance my time between the two fandoms i write for and I REALLY want to finish this series so I can start some other big plans for this fandom).


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